


Eglantine

by grassylampshade



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Kushiel's Legacy Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blasphemy, Blindfolds, Bodyguard, Bondage, Celibacy, Depression, Dissociation, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Facebook Status: It's Complicated, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Dominance, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Prostitution, Religion, Sex Work, Somnophilia, Spanking, Virginity, Voyeurism, consent by omission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29413026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grassylampshade/pseuds/grassylampshade
Summary: Blessed Elua, grandson of the One God, had but one commandment: "Love as thou wilt." He was beloved by eight angels who left heaven to walk the earth with him. First among them was Naamah, who bedded the king of Persis in exchange for Elua's freedom and laid down in the slums of Bhodistan so that he may eat. His closest companion, the Perfect Companion, was Cassiel. Though the other angels settled and took land and lovers, Cassiel loved nothing more than to be with Elua and protected him until the end of his days.Alternate summary byyarnforbrains: "Jas' father tries to ruin his life by assigning a mysterious Cassiline to guard him but the real mystery is why they aren't fucking yet"
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Other(s)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 64





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> "01/20/21, 2:08am: Geralt is a Cassiline and Jaskier is a Servant of Naamah. Hijinks and blasphemy ensue."  
> -Excerpt from my notepad
> 
> Endless thanks to [MisterStalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterStalker/pseuds/MisterStalker), without whom this fic would not exist and none of the sex scenes would be quite so juicy, and to [Vidra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vidra/pseuds/Vidra), without whom the sentences would be even longer and much less coherent.
> 
> You should not need any prior knowledge of Jacqueline Carey's books, please comment if there's anything that doesn't make sense.

Jaskier had returned home despite the dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. He had not spoken to his father since he had made his marque, and even then it was only a letter to notify the Vicomte de Lettenhove that his disgrace of a son was officially a free agent, no longer tied in any way to the family other than blood and well-squashed rumor.

The summons had been brief and curt, nothing but a polite facade. Jaskier had left the City of Elua that very day, unwilling to fret over the situation a moment longer than necessary.

He presented himself to his father's study late in the evening, pausing for only a moment outside the door to catch his breath. Upon entering, he was surprised to see a stranger standing beside the unlit fireplace, his dark clothes blending with the shadows. The man was tall and impressively built, with his moon white hair tied in a club at the back of his head. Half his scalp was shorn close, from the nape of his neck up to his ears, and Jaskier let his eyes linger for just a moment on the lovely arch of that neck before surrendering himself to his father's attention.

"Julian," Jaskier flinched, then tried to settle himself into the stillness he found while kneeling _abeyant_ for hours. Jaskier had learned that to survive his father, one must think as if they were being attacked by a wild dog. Go limp, protect your neck, pray the dog gets bored. Jaskier bowed his head respectfully and said nothing.

"Your sister is gone."

Jaskier recited the circle of fifths in his mind. 

"She has eloped with that drunken fop and they've run off to the hog wallow he calls an estate."

Jaskier tried to remember the words of his newest song backward.

"Not even over my dead body will that man have access to this family's coffers. You will be resuming your duties as heir."

Jaskier trembled with the intensity of the completely peaceful calm inside of him.

"You have more love for strangers than for your own blood. Elua willing, I will live many more years in health. Unfortunately, that means _you_ will be… carousing just as long among the thieves and degenerates of Night’s Doorstep. I have petitioned for a guardian to protect your life, as your virtue is long gone and no longer my concern. He will remain at your side until I am called to Terre d'Ange-that-lies-beyond and you take my place."

Jaskier’s inner peace shattered. He would not, _could_ not reveal his true feelings. Better to deflect, distract, deploy a devious decoy… _Focus, Jaskier!_

"Father, how _kind_ of you to provide me with _two_ gifts today. Nay, three! Not only am I _blessed_ to once again shoulder the duty owed to my house, but also you honor me with your concern about my well-being. Truly it is too much for you to have extended yourself so far as to find a guardsman who looks as though he himself is a child of the Night Court.” Jaskier turned to the man and gave him a bow that was slightly too deep and flourished to be appropriate coming from a master to his guardsman. “I simply _must_ insist you wait outside during my _assignations_ , lest you steal all my clients! That is, unless you are willing to come along as my second?”

“Julian! Control yourself.” His father was blotched red with fury, gripping the arms of his chair. “This man is a Cassiline and your lecherous talk is disgraceful. The Prefect saw fit to acquiesce to my petition due to generations of loyal service from our family. You will not spoil the opportunity to regain some measure of decorum with such blasphemy. I will not have it known you are so dedicated to Naamah that you scorn Cassiel.”

The blood rushed in Jaskier’s ears as he looked at the stranger with fresh eyes, no longer preoccupied with worry about his father. He noticed the paired daggers on his belt and swords at his back. Vambraces wrapped his forearms, muted against the man’s dark clothing. The man tilted his head just so, causing his cat eyes to flash in the meagre candlelight.

Jaskier’s mind was reeling. Truly, Kushiel must have worked through Jaskier’s father to craft such a torment. Rather than reminding his father how ill-suited his son was to running the estate, Jaskier had neatly fallen for his trap; unable to turn the Cassiline away for fear of offending the Prefect and unable to retain him without causing offense to the man himself with Jaskier’s _assignations_.

This matter would require significant deliberation and strong spirits to untangle, neither of which could be managed comfortably in his father’s estate. “I understand your intent, father. No need to hold dinner on my account, my intent is to return to my lodgings presently.” His father nodded, already considering the matter settled and his wayward son dismissed. 

Jaskier turned and headed back to the courtyard where his hired coach awaited him. On the precipice he paused, remembering his manners. His Cassiline shadow stood two steps behind him, holding a large rucksack.

“What is your name, please?”

“Geralt de Rivia.”

“Call me Jaskier. We are headed back to the City of Elua, we can talk more on the way.”

He should not have been so optimistic. His guardian was still and silent, hardly jostled by the carriage’s movement. Attempts to engage the man in conversation were met with a blank stare, direct questions with only a grunt or nod. Jaskier knew he had deeply offended Geralt but was feeling so sorry for himself he couldn’t bear to apologize. If he was doomed to suffer, at least he wasn’t the only one.

***

They arrived at Jaskier’s home late enough that most restaurants had switched to drink rather than food. He handed Geralt the key and pointed him upstairs, then begged supper off the housemistress.

“I hope you don’t mind, it’s a bit of this-and-that, dear Geralt. I do promise I am a better host when not caught off-guard,” Jaskier called as he nudged his way into his chambers. Geralt stood in the center of the room, looking as if he hoped that by pretending to be a column, he’d become one. 

“Make yourself at home. For the moment, at least, I suppose this is it.” Jaskier busied himself laying out their cold supper on his small table, attempting to unobtrusively tidy the place up as he went. It was rather hard to hide your mess when your home was primarily a single room, but one large pile of clothes was more polite than small piles on every horizontal surface, surely. Having worked his way one full turn around the room without hearing a sound from Geralt, he fixed the man with a haughty stare, meeting those golden eyes with as much steely nobility as he could muster.

Eventually, Geralt broke and dropped his rucksack to the floor with a hollow thud.

If there were ever a time when Jaskier had entertained a man _less_ interested in his company, it did not come to mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night.

If Geralt clenched his jaw any harder, he was sure his teeth would crack. He had never met a person who talked as much as Jaskier. The stream of chatter was like a bubbling brook, occasionally punctuated with humming bits of songs or cursing when he stumbled into furniture. 

As the evening wore on, Jaskier drank a substantial quantity of wine for such a lean man. Alcohol made little impact on the coherency or quantity of his words, but it seemed to swiftly impair Jaskier’s control of his body. The man’s movements were broader, more sinuous. Worryingly, he seemed to forget his own size and drew ever closer to Geralt. He had a flush high on his cheeks and repeatedly attempted to rid himself of his clothes without unfastening them in any way. He finally managed the many small buttons on his doublet and seemed to weasel his way out of his breeches through sheer force of will. It made sense to Geralt that if a Servant of Naamah could manage one thing while deep in their cups, it would be to undress. He abruptly thrust those thoughts away.

Nearing midnight, Geralt was at his breaking point. He had endured a truly appalling amount of noise from a man dressed in— well, _nothing_ would have seemed more modest than the scraps his ward considered smallclothes. Geralt was angry and tired and sober, but he would not stoop to ask anything of his host. This was a test and he would endure.

He fixed his gaze on Jaskier and maintained unwavering eye contact in a way he knew most people found unsettling. It took a surprisingly long time for Jaskier to notice at all. Whether he was numbed by a lifetime of audiences and leers, or whether he possessed no inherent self-preservation instinct, Geralt did not know. All he cared about was that the man’s chatter finally, blessedly trailed off and he began his evening ablutions. 

After damping all but two of the candles, Jaskier pulled up short, seemingly just remembering that Geralt was still there. Geralt would not make this easy for him. The man fiddled with the frilly edge of his— chemise? What do you call such an arrangement of fabric panels that connect at the high collar and waist, but otherwise overlapped and gaped in alarming ways? He was pulled from his contemplations when Jaskier spoke again.

“The _chaise longue_ makes a lovely nest for sleeping, if you are disinclined to share with me.” The young man winced, brain catching up with his mouth.

Geralt had never set someone on fire with his mind before, but he was certain it was becoming more likely by the minute. Jaskier pulled the top blanket off his own bed and laid it out on the chaise. He hesitated, then brought over a pillow from his bed as well.

“Ah, well… we’ll try to sort all this out in the morning. Good night, Geralt.” He yawned hugely, then stretched out a hand as if to clasp Geralt’s shoulder in farewell. Geralt leaned away, causing Jaskier to stumble a bit as he overbalanced. Geralt enjoyed it perhaps slightly more than he should have.

***

Geralt sat still and silent until he heard Jaskier’s breathing even into sleep, then he swiftly surveyed his new accommodations: one large room encompassing the entire top floor up to the roof rafters; walled privy built into the corner including a pump for water and cluttered with a needlessly large tub; sleeping area divided from the living area by a latticed wooden screen; one large window, shutters open to allow a breeze, overlooking a courtyard; no nearby houses of the same height, but a trellis running along the wall directly underneath that looked easy to climb; clothes, so many clothes, and absolutely everywhere. 

Seeing the clothes reminded him to remove his own outerwear, folding and storing his belongings neatly in a petty show of superiority. He made use of the privy and blew out the remaining candles. No need to be wasteful when he had excellent night vision. He briefly examined his own smallclothes, baffled over the truly miniscule version Jaskier wore— why so _small_? And why did they lace up the _sides_? But he forced the thoughts back. Appraising how a courtesan accessorized his wares… that could only lead to madness, surely.

He kicked away the pillow and blanket in a fit of pique. It was bad enough to have to breathe the remnants of numerous faint perfumes and the other man’s sweat without intentionally smothering himself in it.

Sullen but exhausted, Geralt lowered himself onto the chaise and into an uneasy sleep.

***

Panting, growing louder. Moans, increasingly high pitched. Geralt instinctively blocked out the noises, long accustomed to rooming with young men who swore an oath of chastity and the self-management it entailed.

The whimpering was decidedly _not_ normal. Then the screaming began.

He was at the bedside with his daggers in hand before Jaskier could draw breath for another scream. The man had drawn himself up against the headboard and curled tightly as if to protect himself from attack, though the room was empty of threats. Geralt leaned over, trying to see what was causing the man such pain. Jaskier must have felt his presence, as he struck out with a wild haymaker to the jaw and a kick to the gut which Geralt would swear to the death had never landed. Startled, he cast _igni_ and sent flame to every candle in the room.

Jaskier blinked rapidly to clear his eyes and seemed to come back to himself. He sagged as the tension left his body, stinking of fear-sweat and trembling. Geralt’s body seemed to absorb that tension and he grew more agitated as Jaskier calmed.

“What,” he bit out, “was that?”

“I’m so sorry, Geralt. I didn’t think to warn you.” The man gulped and looked wretchedly ashamed. “I can’t be... in the dark. It makes the room small. Well, makes it _feel_ small. I wake up and think I’m back— ah…” he trailed off, picking at a thread in his sheets. “I can’t abide small spaces. If it’s dark, I don’t know any better. I just—” he took a breath. “I’m so sorry I hit you. I have some salve around here somewhere."

Jaskier reached up as if to tilt Geralt's face into the light.

"Don't touch me," Geralt snarled. He turned back to the chaise and doused most of the light, letting a candle at either end of the room burn on into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love what you do, and you'll never work a day in your life.

Tonight would be his third night performing at Eglantine House since bringing Geralt to the city, and Jaskier was getting frustrated.

He dressed himself with exaggerated care. He pulled tight knee-length trousers over bare skin and swathed himself in a shirt of gauze so fine and shimmering it could have been spider silk. The blouse’s back was split down the middle and the two exaggerated halves were tied at the opposite hip. The fabric tumbled open, revealing his marque and pooling over his rump. He drew attention to his shapely legs with tall heeled boots and dainty silk stockings begging to be caressed. He picked up his lute and contorted to examine himself from every angle. Satisfied he would be presented to best advantage, he turned to the bigger issue at hand: his Companion.

Geralt was cleaning and honing his four blades, ignoring his ward entirely. Jaskier was quite sure the maintenance was unnecessary since he hadn’t put them to any use so far, but dropped that argument in favor of more pressing matters.

He took a deep breath and centered himself the way he did before facing a crowd. He focused on what he wanted from his audience, put the smallest drop of entreaty in his voice, laced his words with the promise to make it worth their while.

“Geralt,” Jaskier called for his attention gently. He watched as the man’s head came up, then tilted just a little to one side, slitted pupils contracting and expanding as he focused. Jaskier felt as if he were being rapidly disassembled, not only undressed but also skinned and filleted and broken down into his base components. “I truly must perform for a patron tonight. What good is a blade if never drawn from its sheath?” He restrained himself from smirking at the accidental double entendre with monumental willpower.

“I prefer to keep my sword sheathed, as it’s only drawn to end a life.” Geralt was a literalist to the end.

“You can be a sword and I’ll be a dagger, then.” Jaskier could have kicked himself for the playful banter. It was unthinkable that Geralt’s slightly pursed lips hid a smile; more likely a grimace. “We’re getting off track and I think you’re doing it on purpose,” he put lightness in his voice as if they often had friendly disagreements.

Geralt did not bother to respond but instead stood and began strapping on his twinned daggers, swords, and vambraces— silver and steel, all. There was a song in that, Jaskier was sure, but he put it aside for now. 

“Will you keep me safe tonight?” Geralt pulled up short at the question, pausing before he met Jaskier’s eyes.

“It is my duty, to Cassiel," his voice was rough, fervent, intense, but not with the anger Jaskier was accustomed to, "and to you."

“I hope to fulfill my duty tonight as well, if Naamah wills it,” Jaskier continued on as if Geralt had already agreed to stand down, knowing a conversation could be a battle and follow-through gave your blows strength. “I think I’ll debut my song about—”

“Do not use your glamour on me,” Geralt shook his head as if regaining consciousness after a fall. For once he did not look angry, only deeply unsettled.

Jaskier was not hopeful it would be a change for the better.

***

The change was, in fact, significantly worse.

The first night, Jaskier had been confident his own charisma would easily overshadow any chilling effect a Cassiline might have on a boisterous pleasure house such as his own. He had been sorely disappointed by his lack of success.

The second night, Jaskier had more closely observed the body language of his audience and noted how guests tended to avoid looking towards Jaskier— or perhaps towards the Cassiline lurking behind him.

The third night, he entered Eglantine House convinced there could be no greater quell to a potential patron’s ardor than the golden eyes of his Companion sizing them up as a possible threat. He had never been so wrong.

Initially, all seemed well. His audience was appreciative and none seemed too concerned about the wolf in their midst. Jaskier cavorted and sang, even earning a few appreciative strokes and blown kisses. Before the end of his set, however, passions began to cool. He assessed the crowd discreetly as he moved around the room performing.

The problem was obvious: Geralt prowled the ballroom, keeping Jaskier ever in his sight as if tracking prey. His eyes were locked on, calculating, missing nothing. Clearly he was trying to unravel whatever had unsettled him earlier. He tried to avoid Jaskier’s line of sight, but he made little effort to blend in with the guests; he was as obvious as a bull in a mud puddle. Pleasure-seekers were not in the mood to fight over a toy that was already so blatantly claimed. Oh, if only they knew how wrong they were!

As he finished playing and absorbed the scattered applause, Jaskier rose from a bow to find Geralt poised at his elbow, glaring away any remaining attention.

Jaskier nodded, acknowledging defeat. “I’m ready to go home now.”

Geralt led the way without a backward glance.

***

“You knew— You _knew_ why she invited me there, Geralt! I’m well aware _you_ are a passionless, sexless demi-god, but do not demean my intelligence by pretending this is your first day to walk the land amongst mere mortals.”

He watched Jaskier with a wary eye. The man was pacing, trembling, livid. He kept barreling forward as if he wanted to grab at Geralt’s shirt and haul him in for a beating, but then would whirl away at the last moment to pull at his own hair and resume his tirade with mounting fury. 

Geralt had been thunderstruck initially; Cassiline training and a decade of monster hunting had left him wholly unprepared for the onslaught of a professionally trained bard-and-whore in a towering rage over not being able to get his cock wet. He begrudgingly respected the man’s self control over the physical violence of his anger, if not the verbal.

“Even a _child_ knows the sound of cats yowling in heat! Just because _you_ have never inspired me into cries of delight doesn’t mean it can’t be done!”

Jaskier hadn’t sounded like a cat yowling in heat. He had sounded… hurt. Somewhere between a punch to the gut and a gasp of surprise. Then he had moaned, broken by a sob. 

After agonizing outside the bedroom door for a small eternity, listening to voices growing steadily louder and more expressive, with the heat of his own skin growing unbearable, feeling his body adjust and balance as if to fight a foe that would not come, he could restrain himself no longer. He had sprung, and he had misjudged. An utter and abject failure on his part. A crushing embarrassment for both of them.

“You sounded—”

“I _sounded_ like I was overwhelmed by the blissful agony of sinking into a woman’s cunt for the first time since I was cursed with your presence! You might have come to that realization yourself if you had only stopped to think for _one fucking moment_ and don’t worry, the irony is not lost on _me_ that I, of all people, am called upon to teach a Cassiline about _impulse control_.”

“I smelled blood—” he started, but Jaskier would hear no more.

“When you undoubtedly employ the _terminus_ to kill you and I _both_ the next time someone touches me, I will be laying your debt at Cassiel’s feet.” He spoke with a venom that raised the hair on the back of Geralt’s neck. “I’ll fuck Cassiel and the whole blessed host if I want to. You will not be the end of my happiness.”

***

It had been three weeks. Three agonizing weeks since Jaskier had successfully entertained a patron. His reputation would suffer for the hiatus but it hardly mattered after the appalling display two nights past, whereupon a Cassiline Brother, his sworn protector, had hauled him bodily out from underneath a wealthy patron, wholly convinced of her murderous intent as evidenced by moans of pleasure and some kitten scratches down his flank.

He and Geralt had since forged an unspoken truce underpinned by Jaskier repressing as much of himself as he could manage and Geralt sitting silently for long stretches of time. Perhaps that wasn't really a truce. A stalemate? A siege?

Jaskier was on edge. He paced the border of 'his territory,' an endless loop he could now traverse with his eyes closed. He started at the long wall of the privy, crossed in front of the window, scrambled over the bed, reached the wardrobe, skirted along the screens that demarcated Le Petit Monastère and returned to the privy wall. Around and around he went.

No amount of exercise exhausted him. No amount of food filled him. He'd grown bored of modesty and had taken himself in hand half a dozen times but could not find satisfaction. He couldn't write anything new. Every note he played rang sour in his ears. 

He had attempted, once, to sneak away to the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers as he had done in his youth. He got as far as the door before Geralt growled and sent him scurrying back to bed without a word.

Said Cassiline was presently kneeling within the paltry solitude of what had once been a lovely sitting area and was now a scrupulously clean monk's cell, his own private monastery, square in the heart of Jaskier's home.

Jaskier took another turn around the room, peeking at Geralt through the slatted screen. Beautiful, untouchable Geralt. He shook himself and made another pass in the opposite direction. He looked again at the kneeling man. Gray breeches, gray tunic, pale skin, white hair, pink mouth. He ached with desire. He sent silent prayers and apologies to Cassiel. He turned and passed the screen again. He burned with lust.

"Geralt?" No response. "Geralt, I'd like to speak with you, if you would be so kind." He paused by the end of the screen, hoping the man would deign to rouse from his meditation. He fidgeted and swayed on the spot, enjoying how the wide legs of his hareem pants flowed like skirts. "It's about Naamah. And Cassiel." A low blow, but necessary. Jaskier watched intently and noticed the infinitesimal change in Geralt's breath that indicated his return to the realm of whores and boredom and imperfect companions.

Geralt eventually stood, gracing Jaskier with his presence. Jaskier met his cat eyes and licked his lips. 

"I dedicated myself to Naamah's Service at thirteen. Book learning only, of course. At sixteen I began taking patrons. I have been practicing my arts for ten years and never have I gone so long without—" he cleared his throat and continued, "I know you trained for your path longer than I for mine, but you have only just begun Cassiel's work. Perhaps you do not feel his pull, not yet.

"I was an adept of Eglantine House. Our creed is 'To create is to live.' We serve Naamah through creation. Music, verse, sewing, painting… I studied all these. But those skills are honed not for the creation of art for art’s sake, but for pleasure. We master the bedroom arts to create pleasure in its purest form, in honor of Naamah. I need you to understand that this is part of who I am. The heat in my blood comes from Naamah’s passion. Without it, I feel… bereft. I feel like I'm dying, Cassiline." Jaskier rubbed at his arms, trying to ease the prickling under his skin.

"Please, Geralt, _please_. We must come to some sort of accord." He felt increasingly frantic and drew closer to Geralt, whose golden eyes widened.

"Cassiel was sworn to protect. Imagine if you were kept from me. You don't even _like_ me and I know you would fight and kill to return to my side." He pressed closer, holding his hands up in supplication. 

"You have to— I am creating nothing here, no joy or pleasure. I am— I don't know what to do!" He felt his eyes welling with tears and he swayed helplessly forward, knowing he would find no comfort but desperate for even a harsh touch if he could get one. 

" _Down_ , Jaskier!" He had never heard that tone from Geralt before. Jaskier found himself resting _abeyant_ and unsure how he got there. He waited and put his trust in Naamah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jaskier's blouse ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1YM5nX.H1gK0jSZSyq6xtlpXaG/Summer-backless-sexy-lacing-men-shirt-personality-punk-streetwear-nightclub-DJ-singer-stage-costume-male-casual.jpg)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier puts his trust in Naamah.

Geralt looked down at Jaskier. The man knelt as though he were meditating like a Cassiline, if the Prefect had ever cared about the look of a thing. Back precisely straight, hands resting flat on his thighs, head bowed just so.

"Look at me."

Jaskier moved only his eyes. There was no fear there, only anticipation. Though the man was perfectly still, it seemed as if every fiber of his being arched towards Geralt like a bowstring humming before the arrow strikes its target. 

"Enough."

Jaskier dropped his gaze and said nothing. Geralt did not know what possessed him to belt out orders as if Jaskier were a dog but he was quite shocked it had actually worked. The men lingered in a moment of stillness, of peace.

Geralt walked circles around Jaskier, silent on bare feet. Cassilines knew emotions led to rash actions; better to wait and think and plan if given the opportunity. He let Jaskier's words sink into him, let his mind work as his body moved.

He picked up an armless leather chair and placed it gently in front of Jaskier, taking care not to set it on the fabric pooled on the floor around him. He straddled the chair and sat as far back in the seat as he could, spine firm against the thick padding. Instead of placing his legs forward where they might brush against Jaskier, he spread his thighs wide, leaving the front edge of the cushion open and bracketing the man's body with his limbs. 

Geralt idled there, basking again in the blessed calm. He considered what his body had done and took several moments to settle the anticipation building in his core. No need to rush, particularly with an unknown destination. 

Quietly, as though he were guiding the man through a trance, Geralt spoke.

"Lean forward, Jaskier." The man moved slowly but without hesitation, sighing gently when his face touched the cushion. He rubbed his cheek once against the soft leather, then settled. 

"I find it pleasant when you seek stillness and quiet."

Jaskier took a shaky inhale and released it slowly.

"You are at peace, Jaskier. That pleases me."

Another breath, deeper, the barest hint of vocalization on the exhale.

"You’re pleasing me now with your obedience and your trust." 

The next breath, deeper still. A flush crawled up Jaskier's bare chest and down his back, tinting the flowers of his marque a rosy pink. Geralt moved his legs gingerly together until he saw the hair on Jaskier’s arms go up. He paused and waited for the words to come.

"I feel good when I sense the warmth of your skin, when I smell your sweat, when I hear your heart beating. My body knows you are close enough to protect. It brings me untold satisfaction to have you safe with me."

At that, a shudder rolled through Jaskier. He whimpered and his pulse throbbed, slower but more intensely. 

"Look at me."

Jaskier's eyes were deepest blue and his pupils were wide. He panted with his mouth barely open as if he might taste the air between them. He smelled like clean sweat and the ocean. 

"Enough."

Jaskier closed his eyes again and waited at Geralt's mercy.

"Speak, Jaskier."

"Please… please may I, Geralt?"

Geralt straightened in the chair, not sure when he had leaned down over Jaskier. He looked out the window and watched the sky edge towards dusk.

"Yes. You may."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jaskier’s arm shift slightly, then felt his body buck against the chair once, twice, brace, then release. He smelled salt in the air. The sky was as blue as the sea. Jaskier breathed like the tide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're in the market for intense masturbation scenes because this fic is absolutely brimming with them.
> 
> [Jaskier's marque](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e4bdab644cd0e163517a31f08e67123f/tumblr_nokd59Abb91u9b5reo1_1280.jpg) from [this tumblr](https://striving-artist.tumblr.com/post/119304601127/these-are-from-an-old-ongoing-project-of-mine). I imagine he has a few buttercups on there as well, just to be contrary.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You mean all those Wolf School Cassilines aren't emotionally stunted?

Eskel sprinted along the palace wall towards the sounds of fighting. He rounded the corner and was startled to find a woman leaning out between two crenelations, watching the battle. She wore breeches and heeled boots, the skirt of her long purple coat flapped madly in the wind. The hood was pulled up over her hair and revealed an incongruously bare back. A long, swirling tattoo traced the length of her spine. The woman whooped and laughed as a griffin careened past her to avoid the Cassilines below. Eskel reached the woman and gently tugged her arm to draw her to safety; his intent had been to help with magic from this vantage point but he couldn’t abide leaving her at risk.

“Come, my lady—” Eskel realized his mistake as she turned. The spectator was actually a young man, nearly as tall as Eskel, with bright blue eyes and a cheeky grin. “Apologies, my lord. This way.”

He gave Eskel an exaggerated once-over. “You can call me whatever you like, if I’ll be coming with you.” The man gave him a saucy wink, entirely unbothered, and turned back to watch Geralt intently.

“Are you Jaskier?”

“You’ve heard of me?” He seemed delighted to be recognized, as if half Terre d’Ange didn’t know his name already. 

“Geralt will have both our heads if he spots me up here with you. Please let me escort you to safety.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes dramatically and groaned like a child being put to bed early. “What’s the point of having a sworn guard if you don’t get to see anything dangerous?” Despite his protests, he turned and linked his arm with Eskel’s, letting himself be pulled swiftly down the steps and towards the palace proper. Eskel preferred not to have strangers on his scarred side, but there was no graceful way to manage it now. As they got closer to the guarded wing, the young man shied back from Eskel’s hold, bracing his heels against the rug.

“I won’t go down there. You cannot force me,” Jaskier whispered hotly. “I’m inside now and you’ve done your duty. Leave me be.” Eskel saw him trembling now, though he had been steady when faced with fearsome creatures.

Eskel paused, thinking of the thrashing Geralt would give him if he learned Eskel had let his ward run free while monsters wheeled overhead. He pictured the palace’s layout in his mind and decided it would cause far less of a scene to change plans than to throw the man over his shoulder and haul him to the underground stronghold. He grabbed Jaskier’s wrist and tugged him quickly through several corridors, finally reaching a little-used servants’ passage. It was long, narrow, and poorly lit; the hallway spanned nearly the entire length of the palace. Jaskier’s breath caught at the entrance, but Eskel urged him forward. “You can see the sky at the other end, we’re nearly there.”

Jaskier picked up speed as they went, surprisingly quick for someone wearing those shoes. He hurtled out into the sunlight, Eskel only a step behind him. They were in a small grassy courtyard surrounded by high walls. Eskel surveyed the sky and strained his senses to keep track of the fight. The sounds of explosions and the screech of metal were distant and slowing, overshadowed by the sound of Jaskier’s panting and rapid heartbeat.

“Sit down, before you faint.” Eskel dropped to sit tailor-style in the grass, pulling Jaskier with him. The young man kneeled with perfect grace, and then toppled over to rest his head on Eskel’s knee.

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir. Who shall I thank for my rescue? I see you are Brother to my devoted Geralt,” the man’s hand waved to broadly encompass Eskel’s eyes, swords and daggers, “but you seem to know him well.” Jaskier smiled and met his golden gaze easily. He hadn’t yet moved from where he sprawled against Eskel’s leg, but there seemed no reason to push him away.

“I’m Eskel. Geralt is my Brother in all but blood. We were year-mates and roomed together through our training.”

He seemed pleasantly surprised to have gotten an answer. “Who was below, fighting alongside Geralt?”

“Lambert. He’s still in service to Terre d’Ange through the end of spring. It was good fortune that he happened to be here in the city rather than roaming the countryside.”

“Shouldn’t you be out helping them?” Jaskier gave him a hint of a smile, as if they shared a secret, and tucked one hand under Eskel’s leg.

Eskel shook his head as he pulled the tail of Jaskier’s coat over to blanket the man’s legs. He must have been feeling chilled as the excitement drained away from him. “They’ve got it under control. If I joined in, Lambert wouldn’t need to throw as many bombs. I’d hate to deprive him of his fun.”

“Tell me about him. Please? Geralt never shares anything about his Brothers. He hardly talks to me at all.” Jaskier pouted a little and looked up at Eskel through his lashes. Eskel could tell he was being charmed but he didn’t see the harm in indulging the man a little, particularly since he was saddled with a stubborn mule like Geralt.

Eskel told him about Lambert being a runt in boyhood, and sensitive about it. Lambert learned to be mean as a viper and had focused all his energy into alchemy during training, with sometimes disastrous results. Eskel and Geralt had spent many an afternoon scrubbing Lambert down with harsh soap, trying to get the smell of soot and brimstone off him before the Prefect caught them, while Lambert cursed a blue streak a mile wide. “He’s nearly as big as the rest of us now, and surpasses us with his big damn mouth.”

Jaskier gave him a sly smile. He purred, “You boys _do_ seem to run large,” and brushed the backs of his fingers lightly along Eskel’s inseam and across the bulge at the front of his breeches.

Eskel choked and flung himself back on his hands, his body caught between moving away as swiftly as possible and avoiding dropping Jaskier into the dirt. He stared straight up into the cloudless sky and listened to the blood roar in his ears.

“Eskel? Oh, Eskel! I’m so sorry. Please forgive me! You’re nothing like— You didn’t— I just forgot who I was speaking with.” 

Eskel took a deep breath and slowly dropped his chin. Jaskier’s face was closer than it ought to be. His cheeks were red and he looked deeply embarrassed at shattering their easy camaraderie. Eskel’s eyes moved down Jaskier’s neck, along the deeply cut shirt showing a surprisingly hairy chest which was hovering just above his own, landing finally on Jaskier’s hands... which were clamped around the top of Eskel’s thigh for balance.

Jaskier yelped and drew himself back, kneeling beside Eskel with his fists curled tightly against his own chest. “I can’t apologize enough, Eskel,” he glanced down at his own hands as if they had betrayed him, then back up to Eskel, pleading, “Will it be alright? Will _you_ be alright? Geralt said— he never— I mean to say, I know it’s _inappropriate_ for a Cassiline to be alone with a Servant of Naamah, let alone be _touched_ by one, and I beg forgiveness for the disrespect to your Order, to _you_ …” The young man was distraught and trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. He bit his lip and looked up at Eskel with tears welling in his eyes. “I’m _so_ sorry,” it was barely a whisper.

Eskel sighed, looking skyward again. He wasn’t surprised Geralt had forbidden Jaskier from touching him; his Brother was forcefully opposed to casual physical contact from anyone other than Eskel. Learning that Geralt had convinced Jaskier that _he_ would be to blame for any indiscretion rather than a failure of Cassiline willpower… that was infuriating. It was quite rare for a Servant of Naamah to need protection, but Geralt wasn't the first Cassiline bound to one and he wouldn't be the last. He faced Jaskier squarely, speaking with confidence to reassure the man, “I have faith Cassiel knows no disrespect was intended. I’m not upset with you. All is forgiven.” His eyes flicked over Jaskier’s shoulder to the archway where Geralt lurked. “Well met, wolf.”

“Geralt, darling!” His voice was sickly sweet. Jaskier twisted around to flutter his lashes at Geralt, stretching his long torso with catlike grace. “You’ve vanquished the foul beasts, I presume?” Eskel ignored the view of Jaskier’s marque in favor of maintaining eye contact with his Brother, displeased that Geralt’s surly attitude had led to such an uncomfortable situation for them all. He greatly preferred Jaskier’s company _without_ the contrived fawning. His false tenderness seemed like armor Jaskier had cultivated to deflect Geralt’s negative attention, and that thought left a bitter taste in Eskel’s mouth.

“You weren’t in the stronghold.”

“The _stronghold_ , Geralt? You _know_ I can’t—” His voice was shrill with indignation.

“I had everything well in hand,” Eskel said, trying to defuse the situation before Jaskier got wound back up.

Geralt looked at him in a way that said there would be no more talking, but the matter was definitely _not_ settled. That suited Eskel just fine; he was quite ready to pummel Geralt as soon as they were away from sensitive observers.

Jaskier stood and brushed himself off, then reached a hand out to assist Eskel to his feet. He was stronger than he looked and did not stumble when Eskel pulled himself up. Jaskier slid his hand up to clasp Eskel’s forearm in farewell, squeezing firmly enough for Eskel to feel through his vambrace.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Eskel,” his eyes twinkled with a bit of their former happiness. “I do hope we’ll see each other again soon.”

Eskel nodded to both of them and hung back as they left. He noticed Geralt chose a different archway than the servants’ corridor, instead taking a path which was less direct but lined with mullioned glass windows.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier seals the deal.

Geralt pretended he didn’t notice Jaskier peeking at him. He had scraped off the worst of the mess, but he was still sweaty and splashed with blood. The desire to hit something had made a violent resurgence when he saw Jaskier and Eskel in the sunshine, talking and laughing like old friends. Jaskier had _touched_ Eskel, had touched him _intimately_ , and his Brother had brushed it off as if no harm had been done. Geralt had been busy _protecting_ Jaskier and the man couldn’t be bothered to stay in the stronghold where Geralt had put him. Instead, his ward decided to make a nuisance and a target of himself while Geralt was fighting and then shamelessly toyed with his Brother.

Geralt only realized he was growling when passing nobles in the hallway gave him a wide berth, whispering behind their hands. Jaskier walked behind him, unconcerned, deep in his own thoughts. Geralt eased back his strides, letting Jaskier lead while he gained control of his bloodlust. He fell into the breathing exercises used to deflect emotions, fighting to tamp down the roiling anger and pain inside himself. His additional mutations made him stronger and faster than his Brothers but they also made him volatile, a fact Vesemir never let him forget. Geralt counted and breathed as Jaskier took a meandering route through lush gardens and silent, mosaic-lined hallways. By the time Geralt realized they were far from their intended destination, Jaskier had already corrected their course.

He didn’t look back at Geralt, but he spoke under his breath for Geralt’s ears alone, “I am meeting with Marquis Charles de Parnasse of Eisande.” The name was vaguely familiar to Geralt, but set off no alarm bells in his head. “He has been after me for some time now, trying to lock me in his gilded cage for a season or two. Normally, I would never consider it, but with things as they are now,” he slanted his eyes at Geralt briefly, “I have decided to reconsider. He is older, with a wife and mistress. He seldom craves a man’s touch but when he does, I am the only one he wants.” A small, proud smile crossed Jaskier’s lips. Geralt couldn’t bear to look at it.

Rather than turning the last corner, Jaskier stepped into an alcove, nearly hiding his aborted attempt to draw Geralt in with him. He instead arranged his clothes, ensuring his coat sleeves were unwrinkled and straightening his emerald green waistcoat—a backless silken affair that Geralt despised immensely—thus revealing more of his tanned chest. He lifted his hood, this time not to protect from the wind, but to bring shadows that darkened his eyes and accented his features. An air of mystery was a simple cheat to lure simple men, Jaskier had explained to Geralt while dressing, but an uncovered marque would leave no ambiguity regarding the reason for his visit.

"Do you think he'll mind if those pants have been underneath your wine rack for the past month?"

"He won't mind at all, since he’ll be underneath _me_ for the _next_ month.”

“That wasn’t as clever as you thought it was.”

Jaskier stuck his tongue out at Geralt and pinched his own cheeks to bring color into them.

“If I grant his request, it would take us out of the city for a while, likely until fall. You’ll be happy to hear the pickings will be slim for a hunter like me. His children are grown and live elsewhere. Visits from his relatives are possible but unlikely. The Marquis’ tastes are mild. He usually returns to the city at least once during the summer, and he often works late into the night so I doubt he will have much time for me.” Geralt couldn’t fathom how Jaskier knew all this. There was a tightness around those blue eyes that did not suit him. “You _must_ learn to compromise with me. I don’t know what I’ll do if this doesn’t appease you.”

Jaskier had said the last part almost despondently. Something sharp and ugly lodged itself in Geralt’s gut. Jaskier bit his lips until they were red and plump. Geralt looked away to examine the blood drying on his boots.

“Geralt?” He waited so long Geralt had to give in and meet his eyes. “I have no other options at my disposal. Shall I accept?”

Geralt heard what he wasn’t saying. Will you allow me to serve? Will you follow me, though you do not wish me to go? Geralt nodded tightly and was relieved he did not need to speak.

Jaskier swept out of the alcove and gathered confidence like a cloak, changing his bearing in a way that was subtle but undeniably different. Geralt was reluctantly impressed once more by his magnetism; Jaskier drew eyes from all sides as they proceeded to their rendezvous. Geralt kept well back, not wanting to spoil the effect, and in doing so happened to notice Eskel among the crowd. His Brother was reassessing Jaskier, giving the barest quirk of a brow that to Geralt was as obvious as a shout. Geralt preferred not being the focus of whatever powerful craft gave Jaskier his edge but watching him in his element sent a ripple of undeserved pride through Geralt’s breast.

“Does anyone know where one might find the Marquis de Parnasse? I do hope he can spare a moment for a dear friend.” He looked at the various guardsmen and courtiers as though they were all in on the game. “I heard he might be nearby, sung from one little bird to another.” He sauntered closer to Eskel who tilted his head almost imperceptibly at the door he guarded. Geralt watched their dance unfold, captivated as the rest of them to see a master at work.

Jaskier halted in front of Eskel’s door, turning with an entirely unnecessary roll of his hip that drew the eye to the sliver of bare skin between breeches and waistcoat. He put a finger to his own lips as if thinking, then pointed that finger at the door, raising his eyebrows in a hopeful question at Eskel. Eskel gave a somber nod, as though he had been tricked into revealing state secrets. Jaskier gave a delighted gasp and fluttered a hand to his chest in coquettish delight, smiling to all assembled and shrugging if to indicate beginner’s luck. Smiles were returned to him and people continued about their business. Only Geralt caught the wink that passed between Jaskier and Eskel as the courtesan slid past him and through the heavy door.

***

“And the jaws of the trap go _snap_ ,” Eskel teased in an undertone as Geralt took up a position on the other side of the office door. “What business does yours have with mine?” Eskel asked politely, as if it weren’t obvious.

“Naamah’s business.”

Eskel nodded slowly and sucked his teeth, staring straight ahead at a decorative vase. “I thought _you_ were Naamah’s Servant, pretty boy. _He_ seems like the trained killer to me.”

Geralt flinched and Eskel knew that only deep respect for the gravitas of the Cassiline Brotherhood prevented Geralt from putting his Brother in a headlock and wrestling him to the ground. The lightning-fast punch to his ribs was fair payback for the jest. The two men occupied themselves with a brief, silent scuffle as they had during innumerable lessons and sermons in the past, prodding and poking in ways that minimized movement but maximized pain. Geralt landed a particularly vicious jab to a tendon that runs along the hip, Eskel grunted as his leg buckled. Geralt shook his head, putting on a scandalized face and tutting disparagingly at Eskel’s disruptive behavior.

Eskel groped for a topic of conversation, not wanting to permit time to attune their ears to the banter he could hear beyond the door.

“I should ask your little bird to teach you some tricks. You’re terribly boring company.” 

Geralt lifted a corner of his lip, revealing one sharp canine.

Eskel kept pushing, nonchalantly remarking, “Must be nice, having a courtesan for a ward. Easy work,” he shrugged and continued, “Not hard to follow someone around if they stay on their back all day.”

“ _You_ try it, if it looks so easy.” Geralt’s heartbeat had kicked up, his discomfort obvious.

“Most likely I’ll get the chance,” he watched Geralt from the corner of his eye. “If he’s as fun in bed as he is outside of it, I’m sure Charles will be happy to play host.” Geralt clenched his jaw, torn between maintaining his stony facade or rising to Eskel’s bait. He had pushed far enough.

“Jaskier seems like a good egg. Genuine, kind-hearted, joyful. It will be a terrible waste if you ruin his life simply because _you’re_ more comfortable being _un_ comfortable.” He turned to look at Geralt, forcing eye contact and going in for the kill. “I didn’t like his reaction after he made a mistake, wolf. He smelled like _fear_. Doesn’t he know he’s got nothing to be afraid of with a Cassiline by his side?” He stared intently at Geralt until his Brother gave way, acknowledging what went unsaid: figure their shit out, or Eskel would get involved.

Though Eskel considered himself an optimist, he did not foresee a peaceful summer ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends Part 1. Onward, to what may or may not be secretly Toussaint!


	7. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at the villa and there is absolutely no sexual tension whatsoever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don your rain ponchos because this chapter is firmly in the splash zone.

The first time Jaskier went to Charles in Service of Naamah, Geralt ran.

They had arrived at the villa the night prior, lagging significantly behind the nobleman’s party. Geralt refused to stew in a carriage for the three-day trip and had insisted they travel on horseback. Despite his upbringing, Jaskier wasn’t much of a rider; he bounced in his seat and preferred playing his lute to holding the reins, though he always treated his rented mare kindly. They traveled at a sedate pace, but they couldn’t avoid the villa forever. Geralt hoped Eskel wouldn’t remark over how long it took, but it was too late now. Tonight he had a duty to uphold. They both did.

He calmly escorted Jaskier to the lord’s chambers, his wife and mistress apparently entertaining themselves elsewhere for the evening. The door clicked shut and Geralt took up position beside Eskel in the hall, as close as they could be to their charges when not permitted in the same room.

Geralt wanted to crawl out of his skin and howl at the moon. He couldn’t fathom how Eskel was so calm. Eskel had been assigned a ward a couple years earlier while Geralt kept hunting monsters, perhaps he could share some words of wisdom. Damn his pride, Geralt had to know.

“Doesn’t it make you uncomfortable?” Eskel gave him a blank look and Geralt bobbed his head to indicate the door behind them. “Is there some trick, or did you just get used to it?” 

“I don’t care what he does,” Eskel looked baffled. “I just tune it out.”

“Tune it out?”

“Well, I still listen to make sure he’s safe. But I don’t _listen_.”

Eskel was no help at all and a useless excuse for a Brother. Geralt gave him a sour look and said no more.

“Do you think one of us should, ah… check the perimeter? I can guard the door,” Eskel said softly, shifting a little on his feet.

This was the best idea Geralt had ever heard. The perimeter was critical to security.

“Good thinking.”

Geralt sprinted down the hall and out into the night.

***

Geralt ran circles around the beachside estate. He spiralled outward until he could just barely hear Jaskier’s voice, the words indistinct. Geralt didn’t know exactly how far his hearing range extended after his additional mutations, but it allowed for a broad circuit that fell just inside the wall that encircled the estate.

He settled into an easy lope, slightly faster than his standard pace to distract from the throb of his pulse deep within himself. The stars were bright and Geralt attempted to spot constellations as he went. Rarely, his ears caught a sound from Jaskier, a laugh or a moan. As the hours wore on, more rooms went dark inside the house and the moon rose overhead. 

It had been a long time. A long time running, and for other things. A long time for Jaskier and even longer for Geralt. Suddenly it was uncomfortable to run. Geralt found himself between a windowless storage shed and the boundary wall. A tree blocked out the stars, the night was quiet and still.

Geralt was _not_ quiet and still. He was panting and blowing like a stallion pushed too hard. He paced in the narrow strip of grass behind the shed. He could hear Jaskier’s voice, sounding closer as the man grew ever louder. Geralt ached to return but he knew Eskel would have called to him if there had been danger. He would wait it out. He needed to calm down so he could return soon. Jaskier had said he planned to sleep in their usual room afterward. Geralt had to be outside the door when Jaskier was done.

Geralt turned and pressed his palms to the wall, digging into the stone with his fingers. He tried to fall into meditative breathing but he could ignore his body no longer. He collapsed one elbow to the wall and leaned his forehead on his wrist. His other arm dropped to work desperately at the fastening of his trousers.

He groaned in relief as he pulled himself out of the constricting fabric. In the distance, he heard a full-throated moan from Jaskier. He had to hurry, had to get past this aching, violent need and get back to the villa. He licked his teeth and spit into his palm, adding that to the wetness gathering at his slit. He stroked himself firmly, long pulls that made his thighs shake. He tried to think of nothing outside his body’s own responses. Fuck, he was so close already. His hips bucked forward, body chasing release without his permission.

Jaskier was crying out, over and over, begging. A thought flickered through his mind— What if Jaskier was moaning and pleading to Geralt? To go to him, to grant him release from a desperation just like Geralt was feeling right now? Before he could force the thought away, orgasm ripped through him with staggering intensity. He bit deeply into his lip, trying to keep quiet but small noises still escaped him. He painted the wall with his spend and still he kept rocking into the tight circle of his fist. The climax dragged on and on, then slowly faded away leaving him hollow. As he licked the blood off his lip and tucked himself away, echoes of pleasure rolled through him like the sound of dripping water in a cave. He scrubbed his hand clean on a patch of grass and caught his breath.

The night was quiet and still. Geralt ran.

*** 

He skidded into the hall and tried to slow his thundering heart. He could hear chatter and splashing water inside the room behind him as they wrapped up their _assignation_. He stared straight ahead, ignoring his Brother’s flared nostrils and questioning look.

Eskel reached over and flicked Geralt’s mouth _hard_ , reopening his split lip.

“What happened to you? Assassins scale the wall?”

“I tripped.” Geralt pushed his vambrace aside and blotted the blood on his shirtsleeve, hoping the stain wouldn’t be obvious. 

“Ah, yes, the Great White Wolf. Strong as an ox, gawky as a newborn foal.” 

He would’ve snapped a response, but just then the door opened. Jaskier stepped out, his silk dressing gown wrapped tightly around him. As soon as the door closed, he yawned, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Thank you both for standing guard,” he groaned out through his yawn. “I’m for bed, boys.”

He kissed his fingertips and fluttered them at Eskel, then shuffled towards his room, never once looking up at Geralt’s face.

***

Every morning, Jaskier got a brief respite from his Cassiline shadow while Geralt spent the first part of the day stretching and running through his training exercises. Usually Jaskier slept, happy to fulfill expectations as a Night-Blooming Flower. On days where he was restless he would do stretches and training of his own. If he was feeling particularly spiteful towards Geralt, he would get himself off as many times as possible so their room would would reek of sex when Geralt returned.

At their home in the city, the courtyard was too small to see Geralt properly from their window. He could sometimes catch a glimpse of Geralt’s hand or foot at the furthest extent of a movement, but not much else. The villa’s sprawling courtyard and large windows were a vast improvement and once Jaskier realized he could watch the entire spectacle from the comfort of their room, he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

He feigned sleep every morning now, uncharacteristically shy about someone knowing he wanted to watch, and he developed a routine: after Geralt slipped out the door to their patio and greeted Eskel, Jaskier would count slowly to fifty. Then he’d slip out of bed and down to the floor, creeping over to the bay window. He’d perch on the window’s bench seat and pull aside one of the heavy curtains, allowing himself a narrow view of the lawn outside their room. There, Geralt and Eskel would move in perfect unison through a series of poses that looked like poetry. Trees bending in the wind, birds taking flight, flowers blossoming… Jaskier drank it all in.

It wasn’t uncommon for Jaskier’s body to respond to beautiful creations; arousal and art were inextricably linked within him. He hadn’t indulged in a morning release since discovering the lookout perch and his body was particularly insistent that day. He pressed the heel of his hand against his prick absently, letting out a little hum as they started his favorite series of moves. The men stood still for a breath, then leaned forward, planting their hands wide on the ground. They bent their knees to crouch, then rolled their spines back up, taking their feet off the ground instead of their hands. After pausing inverted, their bodies eased out parallel to, but not touching, the ground in an astonishing show of strength. Neither man wobbled, though the exertion painted lurid pink swaths on Geralt’s pale skin. They slowly, so slowly pulled their bodies back to vertical, and ended by bringing their legs lightly down on the ground behind them, completing a flip and moving on to the next pose.

Jaskier had spent most of his life around dancers and acrobats. Nothing in the world compared to watching these two men display absolute control over their bodies as the world woke up around them. He palmed more firmly at his erection, sparing a moment to consider if it was worth the risk. The Cassilines were facing away from him, focused on their movements, and Jaskier could be quick when necessary. Life was too short for wasting a glorious sight such as this. 

He jumped down to kick off his dainty smallclothes and pour a palmful of oil from the bottle he kept stashed under the bed, then got back onto the bench on his knees. He thought Geralt might have glanced his way, perhaps spotting the flicker of movement, but Jaskier stilled and they continued on. The first touch of cool oil on his hot skin made him whimper and he gave himself a long caress to spread the slickness. Jaskier drifted, stroking himself languorously, little gasps and quiet moans escaping him. He traced fingers along the base of his cock and down around his sac, tugging gently and trying to match their rhythm in both movement and in breath. 

He worked himself over, attempting to keep track of their choreography so he knew when to finish up. Unfortunately, he enjoyed the slow build too much and missed his moment, their dance coming to an end. Jaskier sighed, disappointed, but before he turned away he noticed that instead of clasping arms and then going their separate ways as usual, they seemed to be having an argument. Eskel was nodding yes and was Geralt adamantly disagreeing. Jaskier knew he should clean up, or at least move away from the window for the sake of appearances, but his curiosity kept him there.

The two men brushed close, then pushed at each other, laughing and clearly trading affectionate insults. Suddenly they both stripped out of their shirts and Jaskier’s heart stuttered in his chest.

The men circled each other feinting and dodging. Jaskier was still holding his cock, not entirely sure why. Suddenly, Geralt lunged and knocked Eskel’s knees out from under him. They rolled over and over, grappling for supremacy. Jaskier nudged the curtain a little wider. It was hard to tell them apart except in flashes— a pale pink arm, a dark mane, an olive-brown flank. Jaskier could hear them growling and snapping at each other. His arousal roared back to life at the animalistic display. They wrestled and strained like warriors, like lovers playing at dominance. Jaskier groaned and resumed stroking himself, his breath fogging the window.

Geralt had managed to get himself behind Eskel, laying himself across Eskel’s back while the other man tried to raise himself from the ground. They were well-matched in height but Geralt was a little leaner. To keep his advantage, he wrapped his arm around Eskel’s neck and hauled them upright so Eskel couldn’t use his arms to flip them. Jaskier moaned, imagining himself kneeling there in the grass with Eskel in his lap, sinking down onto Jaskier’s cock.

There was a flurry of movement. Jaskier held his breath, not letting up as he pushed himself towards the brink. Eskel had flung himself sideways, taking Geralt to the ground with him. They were each struggling to pin the other. Jaskier’s lungs were burning and his thighs ached with tension. The tussle came to an abrupt halt with Geralt flat on his back, Eskel pinning him down where he straddled the other man’s hips and held his wrists to the grass. Jaskier gasped, a little lightheaded, racing to completion. Every desperate breath forced a cry through his teeth but he could no more keep himself quiet than he could still his arm.

Geralt bucked and squirmed, arching off the ground as best he could under Eskel’s weight. Jaskier hungered to have that powerful body beneath him, to be the one pinning Geralt with his thighs. He slipped his free hand down, gathering enough oil to slip a finger fully inside himself, relishing the ache as if it were from a hard-fought victory. He pressed firmly and rhythmically against the spot within that made every muscle thrum with ecstasy, gasping, “ _Yes-yes-yes_ ” as the waves built inside him.

Geralt lunged forward for a vicious bite that fell short. Eskel laughed, then leaned down to whisper in Geralt’s ear. Geralt stared into Eskel’s eyes for a beat, then all at once Geralt surrendered, dropping his head to the ground as the tension spooled out of his body.

He watched his beautiful, powerful Companion yield, submitting himself completely, and it overwhelmed Jaskier. His orgasm wracked his body, leaving him feeling shattered. There were tears in his eyes and he was almost giddy as he tried to collect enough of his broken pieces together to get away from the window before Geralt came back. He tumbled to the floor and dragged his lacy undershirt off, using it to mop his seed off the bench and the glass. He heard voices coming closer and choked on a laugh as he tried and failed to get numb legs back underneath himself. He had barely managed to scramble into bed and under the blankets before there was a tap at the patio door.

“Jaskier?” Another gentle knock. “Are you awake?” Geralt sounded hesitant, unusual for such a decisive asshole. Jaskier clamped down on a hysterical giggle. “Eskel would like to speak with you, if you’re… up.”

Jaskier lay immobile, blinking slowly, completely at a loss as to how to hold polite conversation with two priests of Cassiel while his entrance throbbed with aftershocks and his cock dabbed wetness onto his thighs.

“He’s sleeping,” Geralt hissed. 

Eskel snorted. “He isn’t.”

It was foolish to hope that his pell-mell flight from bench to bed had escaped the notice of two superhuman bodyguards.

“Good effort, darling.” He felt squishy and warm thinking about Geralt’s attempt to protect Jaskier’s dignity… or perhaps he was still pleasure-drunk from his release. He wiped his hands on the underside of the bedsheet and hauled himself to a seated position against the pillows. “It’s fine, I’m always up for you, Eskel.”

There was something wrong with that sentence but he didn’t have the capacity to worry about it once Eskel entered, Geralt trailing behind him. They were both still shirtless and sweaty, thickly muscled and speckled with grass. Each had numerous unusual scars that Jaskier desperately wanted to touch. Eskel’s gray pants were ripped up the outside seam from mid-thigh to hip crease, revealing a glimpse of dark hair and swarthy skin. A slight flush graced his ears, nose and cheeks, mostly hidden elsewhere by his olive complexion and overlay of body hair. Geralt was not so lucky— his ivory skin was petal pink from hairline to nipples. His sparse, pale hair highlighted his shapely chest muscles, trailing down to his trim waist and leading the eye further still, to where the hair thickened and grew coarse. Geralt’s trousers hung low around his hips, the tie that bound them broken off and dangling from one side.

Jaskier’s cock flexed against the blanket and a strangled groan escaped him. He immediately clapped both hands over his mouth and drew his legs up to his own bare chest under the covers to hide his renewed erection. Servants of Naamah stoked arousal shamelessly, reveling in wantonness. He didn’t know how to repress himself, though now he wished he had learned. He dragged his eyes away from where the flush continued to spread across Geralt’s torso and committed himself to conspicuous eye contact with Eskel.

There was a moment of silence where Jaskier assumed they were all praying for the ground to swallow them up and end this misery. The other two men lifted their noses up slightly as if scenting something, but Jaskier refused to consider the possibility. He was already overflowing with embarrassment and had no room for more.

Eskel recovered first, crossing his arms over his chest but releasing them when it proved a distraction for Jaskier.

“I’ll be leaving next week,” ‘with Charles’ was left unsaid, “and I would like you to join us in the mornings until then, if you are, um, available.” He barreled on doggedly. “Geralt said you had exercises of your own to do. Or we could teach each other. For fun.”

“You don’t have to,” Geralt chimed in. Eskel favored him with an elbow to the gut, and Geralt continued breathlessly, “but you can if you want.”

Jaskier looked at those pinnacles of perfection, apexes of animal power in human form, shimmering scions of angelic lineage manipulated by man-made mutation— two absolute fucking idiots scuffing their bare feet on the floor and inviting him to do calisthenics with them as if they were asking to escort him to the Midwinter Masque.

He had descended so far into a nightmare he had broken through the other side, careening into empty air, only to land catlike atop the bedrock of his own realm of expertise: bashful suitors clamoring for his attention. He felt the presence of Naamah sizzling warmly under his skin and remembered he could be powerful, too.

He dropped his hands and sat up straight, tilting his head and skimming his eyes over them in blatant appraisal. They straightened as well, subconsciously trying to present well for his inspection.

Ignore the fluid-soaked garments strewn on the floor nearby, set aside the weeks of mutual torment between guardian and guarded, disregard the impending mental breakdown which could potentially be looming over at least one person in this room. Platonic or not, they wanted _him_ and pleasure kindled in his core. He smiled and licked his lips.

“I’d love to.”

***

Though he had never been particularly drawn to dance or acrobatics, all Eglantine House adepts were expected to perform the basic tumbles and poses. Jaskier had found more use in his flexibility as a Servant of Naamah rather than as a musician, but that didn’t mean he had lost his other skills entirely. He was also a shameless peacock who was not above a little harmless flirtation when appropriately motivated. 

Jaskier jogged a couple laps around the grassy courtyard to wake up his body and mind. Geralt and Eskel had started their movements; slow, deep poses that seemed to stretch them for later exertion. Jaskier had a similar set of movements for himself in mind.

He came to a stop and stretched as tall as he could, then folded neatly in half. He tucked, and rolled himself forward to a seated position, legs stretched in front and then folded himself flat. He had thought the sudden movement would catch their eyes, and from the abrupt cessation of the sound of clothes rustling, he had been correct. He was seated facing away from the Cassilines and continued on, attempting to copy the complete serenity the other men seemed to find. He spread his legs wide and folded over each one in turn, already growing bored with establishing a credible pretext.

He was glad he was turned away as he leaned forward between his parted thighs and pulled himself onto his belly. He didn’t think he would survive knowing which one of them exhaled a heartfelt ‘ _fuck_ ’ at the sight of Jaskier face down with his legs flat as the horizon. After resting there a moment and enjoying the delicious pull in his groin, he pressed himself forward a little, dragging his legs together behind himself. Curling his toes under, he pushed hard with his arms to walk himself back into a wide-legged forward bend, where he was simply _delighted_ to see his Cassilines staring at him, albeit upside-down.

“Done already?” He was secretly grateful he didn’t have to keep going. This was all far more advanced than he usually bothered to do on his own. 

The other men exchanged a glance and Jaskier amused himself by stretching one leg out behind himself and attempting some kind of a standing split. Mostly he just wanted to find out which one of them would break first.

“Are all of Naamah’s Servants so… bendy?” Eskel, of course. Jaskier stood back up, slowly, and turned towards them.

“Oh, I’m stiff as a board compared to some.” He grinned at Eskel as a reward for his bold question. “I’m not much of a dancer, just party tricks.”

“What kind of _party_ needs— oh.” Geralt gulped and his scowl earned him a grin from Jaskier as well.

An idea crossed Jaskier’s mind and he committed to it before he had a chance to let nerves set in. “Geralt, lay down on the ground. I want to try something I haven’t done in a while.” Geralt looked as though he had swallowed a sea urchin. “If you’re too scared, I’m sure Eskel will do it.” Before he could turn away, Geralt had flopped himself down in Jaskier’s path, arms crossed and a sullen look on his face.

“I’m not _scared_ , I was just wondering what we were doing.” Jaskier and Eskel shared a wink at Geralt’s expense.

“Don’t you trust me? I trust _you_.” There was a hint of pink on Geralt’s ears that Jaskier longed to taste.

Geralt grunted at that, but Jaskier stared him down until Geralt nodded, the rosy flush spreading to his cheeks.

“Lovely. Put your arms up in the air, hands flat, bit of bend in the elbows.” Jaskier moved around to stand over Geralt’s head and placed his palms on Geralt’s. Geralt nearly drew away but flicked a glance at Eskel and held firm. “Now _don’t_ drop me.” He immediately jumped, counting on Geralt’s strength and reflexes to carry them though. With far more guts than skill, he managed to haul himself upright into a handstand. 

“Shit!” Eskel rushed forward and hovered his hands around Jaskier’s middle.

“That’s perfect, thank you. We’ll see if I can manage the next bit.” He breathed into the moment, enjoying the rush of excitement. He could just barely see Geralt’s face, but it seemed set in concentration. Jaskier felt remarkably stable and let bravado carry him further. He arched his back allowing his knees to bend and hung his feet over his head looking something like a scorpion’s tail.

“Fuck, Jaskier—” He felt a tiny wobble in Geralt’s arms and decided he had pushed both of their bodies far enough. He straightened his legs and let himself come back down to earth, happy that Eskel had followed him as he staggered upon landing.

He cackled and flopped himself down into the grass, enjoying the light-headedness that came with successfully bluffing his way through a performance.

Geralt’s face interrupted Jaskier’s view of the sky. His face was red and his pupils were wide, he breathed a little harder than Jaskier would have expected. “No more. You could have broken your neck.”

“You would have let me fall?” He soothed Geralt’s consternation with a brief pat on the cheek. “Just teasing, I know you wouldn’t.” All at once, he rolled away and sprung to his feet, hoping to hide the arousal that sprung from exertion and Geralt’s body so close to his own. “Alright, Eskel, your turn! Geralt, give me a boost!”

They spent perhaps a bit longer than normal frolicking in the sun that day. After, Jaskier was so sore he could hardly move. Once they gathered fresh clothes and adjourned to the villa’s communal baths, he stripped immediately and collapsed into the bathing pool while the water was still pouring in, unable to hold himself up even a moment longer and sadly too tired to appreciate the view as much as it deserved.

“Isn’t that cold?” Geralt was quite prissy about some things.

“Not all of us have magic fingers like _yours_ , dear. Mere humans have to muddle through with what we can get.” Jaskier moved towards the large spigot, letting it pound water onto his shoulders. Afternoon bathers enjoyed sun-warmed water from the black-painted labyrinth of pipes leading away from the rooftop holding tank, but he was not so lucky.

By the time the other men were done disrobing, the water had progressed to Jaskier’s waist and he felt like bread dough that had been kneaded too long. The moment Geralt and Eskel stepped in, he turned a pout on Geralt, whining and begging like a pup to get a laugh.

"Eskel does it better," Geralt said modestly. Regardless, he formed a sign with his hand and the water briefly boiled around his fingers.

"I'll be the judge of that." He hauled himself over to sit on the sunken bench between Geralt and Eskel and raised his hand in a magnanimous gesture. "Proceed." They humored him with a few more alternating bursts, and he chose to declare it a tie, citing the judge's lack of experience with the topic of magic.

After scrubbing down, Jaskier tried to beg off for a nap, but Eskel and Geralt would have none of it. They pestered him until he dressed and joined them for breakfast.

"You have to eat, little bird." Eskel loaded Jaskier's plate from the spread left out by the kitchen staff and leaned across the table to deposit it in front of him. Jaskier would have preferred a buttered roll and a flat surface to lay on, but it seemed Eskel shared Geralt's voracious appetite as well as his desire to make sure Jaskier’s belly was full.

"Does that mean you'll feed me?" Jaskier whistled a few birdcalls and tipped his head back, mouth agape. He choked, startled as a grape dropped neatly into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, mindful of his manners, and then rounded on Geralt who was standing by the fruit basket. "You cheeky _minx_! What else can you do?" He was delighted by how playful Geralt was while in his Brother’s company.

Geralt peeked to either side, ensuring they were alone in the small, informal dining room. He sat next to Jaskier, then leaned back so his chair was balanced on two legs. After checking once again for witnesses, he popped a grape into his mouth, then he spit the whole grape so high it nearly brushed the ceiling and caught it neatly in his mouth as it fell. Jaskier cheered and the genuine smile on Geralt’s face made Jaskier's heart flutter. 

They made a brief game of throwing food and catching it in their mouths, with many misses on Jaskier’s part. He then flaunted his juggling skills, starting with a few bread rolls before his Cassilines occupied themselves by tossing strange new items his way—a spoon, an apple, a daringly lit candle—and heckling.

They did manage to eat some breakfast, though Jaskier didn't know how. Eskel eventually left, sheepishly admitting he could hear Charles getting ready and needed to return to his duty.

“Eskel can hear Charles from here?” Jaskier avoided watching Geralt, trying to appear only casually interested. They were seated in the small dining room near the guests’ wing of the house. Charles’ rooms were at the very end of the family’s wing.

“Sure, he’s only down the hall.” Geralt shrugged, as if hearing someone dressing several rooms away through stone walls wasn’t worth bragging about.

“Isn’t it distracting, to hear everything in the world at once?”

Geralt appeared pensive for a moment. “You get used to it. I can usually ignore it, unless I’m listening for something specific. We get very attuned to our ward, though, which is how Eskel knew it was time to go.”

“How far can you hear? Aren’t your ears better than his?” He had a vague understanding that Geralt had received special training and mutations that enhanced his skills beyond his Brothers’ but he was hungry for more details.

“I’m not sure. It’s hard to get a measure on it since some sounds travel farther and it matters if the noise is made by your ward or not. Better, definitely, but I’m not sure how much better.”

“How about from our room to the courtyard?”

“Easily. There’s only one wall and it’s not far. I chose that spot for training so I can hear if you need me.” For some reason, Geralt’s ears went a little pink over admitting he intentionally kept Jaskier in earshot. Jaskier loved that blush. He wanted more of it.

“So then yesterday morning…” Jaskier peered at Geralt over the rim of his teacup, a salacious grin curling his lips. “was that what you and Eskel were fighting about? Whether or not you could hear me?” He sipped his tea, attempting to mask his delight when Geralt’s cheeks and neck reddened. 

“Yes, but it didn’t matter,” Geralt said, tersely. “We could see you in the window.”

Jaskier spit tea all over them both, choking with laughter. 

“You’re unbelievable, you know that? Completely shameless.” Geralt shook his head, cheeks creased by a fond smile.

Jaskier's heart ached and his cock throbbed. They had twisted in their seats towards each other while talking and Geralt’s face was close to his, those golden cat eyes shining and slit-pupiled in the morning light. Jaskier craved the pain of Geralt’s sharp white teeth and wanted to rub his lips over the stubble on Geralt’s neck. There was a wisp of hair that had dried going the wrong way at the crown of his head but Jaskier knew better than to fix it. He hoped he didn’t look smitten as he felt, drawn in like a maiden by Geralt’s boyish mood and teasing words.

“That just might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I’ll treasure it always.” He was only half-joking.

Geralt rose from the table but his smile remained. He tilted his head in invitation, asking Jaskier to walk along with him to their room. Jaskier hurried to his feet but there was no need— Geralt waited for him, lingering in the doorway instead of striding off alone.

It was one of the best days in Jaskier's recent memory. From then on, he was happy to roll out of bed each morning, relishing the companionship and frivolity he hadn't realized he was missing.

His friendships with Geralt and Eskel grew quickly and it was with true sadness that he hugged Eskel goodbye in the courtyard after morning training. Jaskier held eye contact for a long beat, hoping he could convey how deeply grateful he was that Eskel had pulled Geralt out of his shell. Eskel winked and Jaskier couldn’t resist giving him the kiss of leaving, thoughtfully avoiding the lips and instead brushing over each cheek, scarred and unscarred alike.

“I’ll be back before you can miss me.” Eskel hauled Geralt close and they embraced, pressed together forehead to knee, breathing deeply. He instructed Jaskier, “Take care of this one while I’m gone,” and ruffled Geralt’s hair before he could pull away.

They watched Eskel ride off with Charles’ entourage until they were hidden by a bend in the road. Jaskier bumped Geralt’s shoulder with his own, and Geralt bumped gently in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Geralt and Eskel's handstand to planche move](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVr1lBxURSE)  
> [Jaskier's pose with Geralt, hand-to-hand handstand ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ornC_NRogs&feature=emb_title)  
> [Scorpion pose handstand.](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/62/29/66/622966e1c219c7abc5702c430b56fdb1.jpg) This is the Greek pottery shorthand that means "acrobat." Despite the many tricks acrobats are described as doing, they are almost universally painted in this pose.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get wild while Eskel's away.

Jaskier was gone. Seconds ago he had been splashing about in the shallows giving a semi-informative lesson about sea shanties interspersed with detailed comparison of the sexual prowess of various ship’s captains Jaskier had fucked— but now he was gone.

There was nowhere for him to have gone. The waves were small and the beach’s slope shallow, no indication of a rip tide and Geralt had checked for monsters before Jaskier got near the water. He _had_ checked, hadn’t he? He ran the events rapidly through his mind.

Jaskier had stripped down the moment he had seen water, leaving his clothes in the sand. He had paused naked for a moment, looking at his own shoulders and wondering aloud if he liked the freckles that had blossomed there, or if he should ask Charles for a cream that would protect his skin. Geralt remembered looking at the broad curves of Jaskier’s shoulders, where during their weeks by the sea his skin had welcomed the sun’s rays and started to brown like bread just before it’s ready to eat... Geralt shook himself from the memory. He didn’t know if he had checked for safety, but he _did_ know it had now been too long for a normal man to hold his breath.

Acting on pure instinct, Geralt sprinted down the beach and into the surf. Jaskier hadn’t gone far; he was a strong swimmer, though no match for a drowner. He could see Jaskier thrashing hard in the creature’s grip, jabbing and clawing at its eyes, heedless of the needle-sharp teeth so close to his precious hands. A cloud of sand swirled around them and a stream of bubbles escaped Jaskier’s mouth. Geralt speared forward, pushing off the seafloor to drive himself between the drowner and Jaskier. He gave Jaskier a nudge upwards with his shoulder, hoping the man would stay conscious enough to make it to the surface alone, and turned to deal with the monster.

Geralt was in no mood for mercy. Ice flowed into his veins, a cold stillness and purity of purpose he knew was the presence of Cassiel. Geralt had no sword or dagger but it was of little consequence. _He_ was the silver and the steel.

He seized the drowner by the gills, heedless of the sharp cartilage cutting into his hands. They rolled over and over in the water as Geralt worked to wrap his legs around the drowner, pinning the creature beneath him. He grabbed its head and twisted, hard, until he felt a pop and the drowner went still, and then twisted a bit further for good measure.

Convinced the creature wouldn’t follow, he pushed away, surging up from the bottom to where he could see Jaskier silhouetted against the rippling sunlight. He got an arm around Jaskier and hauled them both to shore, immeasurably grateful for the shallow depth that allowed Geralt to get his legs under them and run through the water. He flopped Jaskier down in the sand and shook his shoulders roughly, shouting, “Jaskier! Wake up, come back to me.” Jaskier’s eyes fluttered and Geralt rolled the man onto his side just before he coughed and vomited up a torrent of seawater.

Geralt rubbed Jaskier’s back and chafed his arms and legs, trying to bring life back into his charge. The glacial presence of Cassiel was receding, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness, but Geralt’s work was not done. He crooned and shushed and petted, attempting to ease Jaskier back into his body. Eventually, Jaskier stirred, pushing limp arms against Geralt’s chest and trying to sit. Geralt pulled the man upright and braced him against his own chest until they were both feeling steady. They were caked in sand and Jaskier was scratched and bruised from his struggle. Geralt had left smears of blood on Jaskier from his own wounds and he felt sweat prickling everywhere their bodies pressed together.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up.”

Jaskier moaned weakly and hung his head back against Geralt’s shoulder, turning his face into his long white hair. Geralt pulled his hair away and draped it across his other shoulder.

“That won’t help you breathe. Let’s go.” Without further input, Geralt lifted Jaskier under the shoulders and knees, noticing he was deceptively heavy. He left their clothes behind and walked to the small bathhouse at the foot of the path leading from the estate to the shore. He carried Jaskier in and propped him up on a bench while Geralt quickly gathered clean linens and opened the tap to start filling the tub from the rooftop cistern. He dipped a basin under the tap and brought it to the bench, ridding Jaskier then himself of sand and other unmentionables. He closed the tap, heated the water with _igni_ , picked up Jaskier, and unceremoniously settled them in the tub, pressed together chin to ankle.

He held Jaskier securely against his chest, not wanting the man to somehow slip away and down into the water. His nose pressed into that crown of curling brown hair and he let the last of his tension go. They were safe. _Jaskier_ was safe. He could rest.

After a while, they were able to gather the energy to shift apart and clean up properly. Geralt’s hair was impossibly snarled, tangled around his hair tie and crusted in salt. Jaskier watched his struggle from the other side of the tub with mounting amusement and then reached his hands out, a question in his eyes.

“It’s fine, I’ll just cut it off.”

Jaskier gasped in dismay, “Geralt, _no._ Let me help. Please, may I?”

He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to humor the man, not after the scare they’d had, so he reversed their earlier position and eased himself between Jaskier’s spread thighs. Jaskier kneeled up behind him and started working away at his mane with deft hands. Geralt fell into a bit of a daze, only occasionally catching Jaskier muttering while he worked.

“Hmm, no. Lilac’s not right for you.”

“Head back, so I can rinse.”

“You shear half of it off. How do you still have so much hair?”

The soft chatter and gentle hands made Geralt muzzy around the edges. He grunted when Jaskier started to massage his scalp and neck but couldn’t find the energy to argue when Jaskier insisted it was a necessary part of thoroughly cleaning the roots. A low rumble filled the echoing room and it took Geralt far too long to realize it came from deep within his own chest.

“I’m glad Naamah’s arts aren’t only for the bedroom. Consider it small thanks for saving my life today.”

That took a long time to sink in. 

“You owe me nothing,” he paused and asked the question before he could second-guess himself. “They teach you to give baths in your training for Naamah’s Service?”

Jaskier laughed and teased him gently, “What, they don’t train Cassiline Brothers the same?” His voice was rougher than usual, but Geralt could hear the smile. “Yes, they train us to give baths and braid hair and apply scented oils. I traded lessons with an adept from Balm House to learn about massage and healing. I hope it paid off.” He dug strong thumbs into muscles at the base of Geralt’s skull, more firmly than he had so far and they were both surprised by the groan that followed.

Jaskier worked a little longer, seeming reluctant to leave the knots behind now that he had discovered them. Geralt couldn’t bear to pull away from that sweet ache and was relieved when Jaskier finished his ministrations there and went no further. He wasn’t sure he would have had the strength to ask him to stop. 

They both rinsed one last time, the water tepid after so long, and dried off. Geralt studiously ignored Jaskier’s slight erection as well as his own. Decades of cohabitation with other men left Geralt unconcerned about nudity in general and this was certainly not the first time his body had reacted thusly. A completely natural phenomenon, best to just ignore it. 

“I’ll go get our clothes.”

Jaskier hummed in response and busied himself draining the tub and putting things away. Geralt returned and they walked back to the house nude, not wanting to put sandy clothes on their clean bodies.

The sun was setting as they strolled back up to the main house, hopped over the low railing of their private patio and went into their suite. Jaskier dropped his dirty clothes and gazed around the bedroom, somewhat at a loss.

“Do you need to eat?”

Jaskier shook his head slowly, “Sleep.”

“Water, then privy, then sleep.” He poured a glass of water and nodded as Jaskier drank it obediently.

Jaskier returned from the ensuite and crawled into bed, letting out a little cough after he flopped down. Geralt was at the bedside in an instant.

“I’m worried about your lungs. If you breathed water…” Cassilines were taught basic healing, in case they or their charges had need. “Can I, ah, listen?”

Jaskier rolled onto his back and croaked, “As long as I don’t have to move anymore.”

Geralt surveyed his torso, bruises still blossoming on his neck and hip. He grimaced and peeked at Jaskier’s face, grateful the other man’s eyes were closed. Gingerly he leaned down, bracing his hands on the bed and reassuring himself this was _necessary_ and _important_ for Jaskier’s health. He steeled himself and pressed his ear to Jaskier’s chest. He might have listened a little longer than was strictly required, distracted by the smell of Jaskier’s skin, the sound of his heart pumping, the feeling of chest hair brushing his cheek.

His own unbound hair slid across the man’s belly and Jaskier tensed up, letting out a little huff, “Ticklish.”

Geralt pulled back and dithered a bit. He fluffed Jaskier’s pillows and lit candles in their usual positions, feeling nervous in a way he was not prepared for. He certainly had never _dithered_ before. Jaskier cracked his eyes open and reached out a hand to grab Geralt’s wrist. He allowed it.

“Thank you. You’ve done enough. Let me rest.” After a little stroke of his thumb over Geralt’s pulse, he let his hand drop.

“I—” Geralt didn’t know what to ask. He couldn’t bear to move away. Was it normal to feel this helpless? What if he had missed water rattling in Jaskier’s lungs and he choked in his sleep? Should he listen again to be sure?

“Sleep nearby, if it makes you feel better. Do what you will. I don’t care, as long as you let me _sleep_.” Permission he hadn’t known he wanted to do something he hadn’t known he needed. Unsettling.

He visited the privy, cleaned his teeth with salt and a wet rag, combed his hair. He returned to the bedroom to face the fact he had been avoiding— there was no way he would be able to drag his cot over to Jaskier’s bed. “Hm.”

“Geralt, if you don’t get in this fucking bed, I’ll teach you what a Servant of Naamah knows about killing a man.” His voice was a hoarse growl.

He squinted at Jaskier, but was ultimately unwilling to call that bluff. He slid between the sheets, plenty of space between their bodies in such a large bed. Geralt drew the blanket tightly over himself and tucked it under one arm so he could feel the gentle tug of the bedclothes as Jaskier inhaled. He let the slow pull-release rhythm of sleeping breath lull him into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, that was mean.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things _really_ get wild while Eskel's away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was like therapy for me; it pulled some weird shit out into the light of day but in the end it felt really good.
> 
> Fair warning: a hefty dose of "consent by omission" here, rather than enthusiastic consent. If either one of them said no it would be respected, but neither one of them wants it to stop.

The day after the drowner attack should have been a day of rest. Other than morning stretches and a trip to the laundry tubs, they were at loose ends. Charles, and thus Eskel, had left days ago and would be gone until next month. Geralt wouldn’t allow Jaskier near the beach until he and Eskel could do a thorough sweep to purge the shoreline of any remaining drowners. For once, Jaskier wasn’t going to argue. His long-sleeved blouse hid some, but not all, of his bruises and his throat was still raw from seawater. He was also mind-numbingly _bored_.

It was just after lunch and he had already tried every possible thing he could think of to occupy himself. Geralt had been reading a book for _hours_. Jaskier had tried reading but the erotic stories made him horny and anything else wasn’t holding his interest. He spent a fair bit of time balancing on the stone railing around their patio trying to stick flowers in Geralt’s hair and casting shadow puppets onto Geralt’s book. Jaskier considered it good clean fun, but Geralt considered it ‘generally being a nuisance’ and had threatened to ‘knock him ass over tits’ if he kept at it. While causing his normally-prim Cassiline to resort to vulgarities was delightful, threats of bodily harm were not.

He then tuned his lute incorrectly and started working through the most god-awful repetitive songs he knew, knowing his roughened voice was nowhere near as melodious as usual. By the sixth verse of “Hairy Harry and Bonnie Bonnie” Geralt looked murderous. He pulled a feather from behind his ear, kindly left there by Jaskier earlier, and used it to mark his spot in the book.

Geralt prowled into the room and Jaskier quickly turned away to set his lute in its case, fearing damage. Before he could turn back, Geralt had grabbed him by both elbows and held him in an implacable grip. Always inclined to be contrary, Jaskier feigned upset surprise, squirming and whimpering. He stopped whining when Geralt arranged them so he held both Jaskier’s forearms together, fingers to elbows, in one large hand. Jaskier was unsure where this game was headed and he froze when he felt Geralt’s rough fingertips brush his lower back.

Geralt gently tugged at the bow there, unwinding the long panel of silk that wrapped around Jaskier’s belly and had been tied at the base of his spine. The front of his shirt flapped away from his chest for a brief moment, held on only by the sleeves and high neckline. Geralt gathered the dangling ends of the band and started wrapping them around Jaskier's forearms. He finished off with a couple knots, easing a finger underneath to test the tightness.

"This is silk," Jaskier complained. He had to keep up appearances while he figured out if his growing erection was appropriate for the situation. 

"Don't rip it."

Geralt tugged once more at the last knot and returned to his book. Jaskier was dumbstruck. He stood in the doorway to the patio, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Geralt seemed to forget Jaskier existed entirely. That simply would not do.

Jaskier settled to kneel _abeyante_ near Geralt but not touching. Geralt wore black leather pants that should either be mandatory for Cassilines or illegal, Jaskier wasn't sure. He wore a loose black shirt which was too hot for the weather, but it was the last clean shirt he had. The billowing sleeves were pulled over his biceps and were secured through the neck opening with leather straps that had a loop at one end and a button at the other. He had watched as Geralt crafted them, unaware they would be used for violence against Jaskier's sanity. Such ingenuity in Cassilines should also be illegal.

"What—" Jaskier started, but Geralt waved him off. He had the feather behind his ear again. Jaskier huffed and waited while Geralt finished that page and moved on. As he turned the page, Geralt shifted, slouching in the rattan chair and stretching one leg out. His thighs were wide apart, pulling the leather taut over his groin. He brushed a stray piece of hair back from his face and collected the feather as he did so. Jaskier wished he had his paints for this moment. The Cassiline in Repose. A Study of Nonchalance.

Geralt twirled the feather between his fingertips and trailed it idly along his outstretched leg, utterly at ease. 

Hold. Read the room. Know your audience. Jaskier scrutinized the man before him, looking for clues. He was comfortable, ready for a long stay. His elbow was braced on the arm of the chair opposite his outstretched leg, he was partially turned away from Jaskier. Foolish for multiple reasons, the least of which being the shadows cast across the page. That feather, the tip twirling and tracing across the leather… Geralt never fidgeted, never wasted movement when he could be still. Jaskier didn't know if it was a clue or a nervous tell, but he _did_ know it was the best lead he had.

Slowly, as if sneaking up on a wild animal, Jaskier shifted. He sidled over to that outstretched leg and waited. He pulled and shifted inside his restraints, enjoying the frisson of heat it sent into his core. After an eternity, truly far too long to read those sheets, Geralt lifted the feather away and turned the page. Quick as lightning, Jaskier lifted one leg over to straddle Geralt’s and froze. He desperately hoped he hadn't misread the situation. 

Geralt's face had turned while reading the left side, giving Jaskier a better view. He had no illusions that Geralt could not see him perfectly from his peripheral vision. The feather was jutting out between Geralt's fingers as the rough tips slid down the deckled edge of the book.

Geralt turned his head to the right and Jaskier let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. The feather was back, tracing along directly in front of Jaskier’s face. He could see the glossy black tip of it deflecting from the slight friction. The rest of the feather was white, immaculately clean. 

A drop of sweat rolled down Jaskier’s bare spine and he felt it soak into his sleeve. He was painfully hard. With a reminder to himself— _fortune favors the bold_ —and a mental shrug, he sunk down to sit on his heels. A breath puffed out of him at the pressure of Geralt’s shin on his cock. He leaned forward and brushed his chest against Geralt’s knee, sliding back and forth, tracing patterns until both his nipples were pebbled and aching beneath the silk blouse. His prick jumped in his braies, wetness ebbing from him. 

Geralt was smart, but in this Jaskier had the advantage. Braies were absolutely appropriate as outerwear no matter what the Cassiline might say. When Geralt lifted his hand to turn the page again, Jaskier darted up and away. If he hadn’t been watching for it, he would have missed the tiny movement of Geralt’s eyes as they flashed his direction. He zipped around behind Geralt, using his affected disinterest against him, and leaned a hip against the rough stone encircling them. He squirmed and wiggled against the edge until his loose braies fell away. Never underestimate a Servant of Naamah in any matter involving nudity.

Bare from the waist down, he resumed his position straddling black leather. Curiously, while Jaskier was occupied, Geralt’s leg had turned slightly, foot angling outward so Jaskier now straddled a firm calf rather than shin bone, and the feather traced along a broad expanse of Geralt’s inseam, rather than the front of his thigh. 

Jaskier ducked his head while he gained control of his smile, knowing nobody likes a gloater. He assessed his position and scooted back a little; he had the feeling it wouldn’t benefit him to bump into Geralt’s wandering hand, no matter how much he wanted to feel those calloused fingers against his tongue. Skimming his chest against Geralt’s knee, he could smell the hot leather and it made his mouth water. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer. If this was unwanted, he’d find out soon enough.

He rounded his back and brushed the head of his cock against Geralt’s calf, sighing at the heat and the friction. He repositioned a little, not wanting to overbalance without the use of his arms. Satisfied, he began to grind in earnest. He dragged the underside of his prick against Geralt, feeling thin streaks of wetness start to dapple the surface and smooth the way. Little noises made their way out into the world, whimpers and whines.

The sea breeze cooled the sweat on his back. It was good to be out in the fresh air, hearing birds sing. The experience was a heady one, building slowly with each roll of his hips. He had not a care in the world other than listening to his own body, enjoying the playful thrum of his heart, a fox feeling frisky in the sunshine.

A slippery puddle had eked out and he delighted in tiny rolls of his hips, his erection hard enough now that his foreskin pulled away and he could tease at the tender fold of skin where crown met shaft. He arched his spine and dug into that feeling, rubbing and rubbing right there, never able to get enough of a good thing. He wound himself tighter, wondering if his legs or his cock would beg for mercy first.

Jaskier pulled hard against his bindings, and it brought him perspective. He wasn’t a vixen, out in the forest. He was a hot-blooded little bitch, getting away with as much as his master would allow. Thunder rippled through him. He gave up on the slow burn and started to rut with intent, desperate to finish before playtime was over and his master no longer wanted to indulge his favorite pet. He bucked wildly into the pressure, his own wetness not nearly enough but exactly what he deserved.

Frantic, he squirmed and yelped and sobbed, feeling untethered, lonely, lost in the pleasure. The surface under him moved the slightest bit and he seized onto it, biting down hard on the thick thigh beneath him. He was a monster, a beast seeking the taste of blood. He careened over the edge, growling through his release, grinding his prick through the mess until he was oversensitized and raw.

He backed away, eyes down, and was ashamed to see he had left tooth marks in the tough hide. He licked over the imprint in apology as if it were a wound he could heal. He peeked through his lashes and saw the outline of an impressively hard cock under leather. He wasn’t invited up, so he shuffled back and started lapping the spend away, wishing it weren’t his own. The calf muscle jumped under his tongue as if ticklish. He chanced another glance up as he worked his way down towards the ankle. Strong arms, muscles tense but unmoving. Beautiful neck, flushed, tendons standing out under the skin. Sharp jaw, pink lips opened slightly, tongue just at the edge of the teeth as if to taste the air. Golden eyes— _Geralt_.

Jaskier rebuilt himself inside as he finished cleaning his mess. At some point Geralt’s arm had drifted down and his eyes were locked on nothing, blinking slowly. The hand holding the feather rested against his hip, absolutely still. Only the pulse beating in his neck and occasional throb of his cock against the leather reassured Jaskier that Geralt hadn’t turned to stone in his absence.

Jaskier cared not for the mess on his own body, happy he had been able to return Geralt to his prior cleanliness. Clambering over to the second rattan chair, Jaskier pulled the cushion off with his teeth, dropping it to the ground and shuffling it into a good position. He crawled up and sighed with relief for his poor knees. Satisfied and comfortable, he rested his head against the sun-warmed leather of Geralt’s inner thigh and settled down for a nap.

When he awoke, his arms were untied and there was a feather tucked behind his ear. Geralt was back at the beginning of the book, reading in the dim light of the setting sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Jaskier's blouse](https://wantmychic.com/high-fashion-navy-shirt-women-stand-collar-lantern-long-sleeves-ribbons-cut-out-casual-backless-top-ig-sexy-ribbons-tie-blouse/)
> 
> My brain has two halves. This chapter came from the sex side. The next chapter comes from the sad side.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains lots of negative self-talk and progressively worsening mental health. Be kind to yourself and skip if it doesn't feel good to read it. I'll put a synopsis at the end for those who need it. I promise it will get better soon.

Jaskier was wilting. That was the only way he could think of it. Could you be lonely if you had someone with you almost every moment of the day?

Geralt pulled away from Jaskier in the days after the drowner attack, seeming unable to relax anymore without Eskel smoothing his rough edges. He would spend long stretches in deep meditation, each time emerging colder than before. He reverted to silence and grim stares, no different from when he first met Jaskier. It felt worse, now, knowing Geralt chose to be unkind, knowing he could be sweet and funny and playful when at ease.

After long enough, Jaskier started to drift a bit, that’s all. It felt like the last few years of his life at his father’s estate or any time he was forced to return home for an event. There, he would be surrounded by people yet completely alone. Nobody had cared for him then and nobody cared now. Of course Geralt was responsible for his safety, but he was safe here in this big empty villa. Duty: fulfilled. As long as Jaskier didn’t get himself murdered while alone in a manor house in the countryside, Geralt would consider their accounts balanced.

Nobody here wondered if he had written anything new, or if he had gotten to perform his latest song cycle yet, or if he had ever finished sewing that blouse. It was rather nice, he supposed, not to keep track of things he had accomplished lately. He hadn't done much at all worth speaking about, unable to even maintain a friendship with his sworn Companion without help.

He quit getting up to do stretches with Geralt; they never spoke anyway and he knew Geralt appreciated the time alone now that Eskel was gone. Better to sleep. After, Geralt would take a bath and eat breakfast. Jaskier would sometimes have dragged himself from bed by then. If he had, he’d tell Geralt he had already eaten. It didn’t matter if he had or not, it was always easier to tell Geralt it had been done. If he hadn’t gotten up yet, he’d flop around and dally, and Geralt gave up on rousing him more often than not. Sometimes when getting dressed was too hard, Geralt would bring him back a plate from lunch which Jaskier could pick at until it was too late for a midday meal and set it aside until dinner.

Drinking just meant he'd have to get out of bed. It seemed a bit excessive to move so much between pitcher and bed and privy.

Bathing was surprisingly exhausting for a task you do lying down. All that undressing and dressing… better to just stay in the same clothes. He wasn’t doing his exercises so he wasn’t working up a sweat. Sexual arousal had stopped being an issue at some point, which helped delay bathing, and he was grateful for it. Attempting to avoid Geralt long enough to engage in discreet masturbation was too complicated, and the idea of building up to a flirtation with one of the few staff remaining at the estate was so overwhelming as to be laughable. It would just upset Geralt, anyway.

He became consumed with fear that he would err and be forced once more into a small, dark place. The agony of suspense became more than he could endure and he knew it was a gift, a luxury to make the choice himself. He locked himself away inside, silent and inert, hoping it would be enough.

It was simple to lay down and be still. Geralt seemed to like it... or at least he _thought_ Geralt had said that once. So many of their conversations seemed far away, like something that happened to someone else. He wondered if Geralt felt the same way, if that was why Jaskier had vague memories of pleasant moments with Geralt. Maybe sometimes they were both different people inside and only his body remembered. He couldn’t wrap his mouth around the words so he just let them go. Speaking wasn't worth the effort.

Geralt preferred when he was quiet. 

***

Jaskier opened his eyes one day and Eskel was there. He hadn’t realized it was time for Eskel to return. It was very convenient for Eskel to be sitting on the edge of Jaskier’s bed, as that was where Jaskier happened to be.

He wasn’t sure of the protocol for waking up with a Cassiline in your bed, as he had never done so before. Eskel was nice enough that he probably wouldn’t mind Jaskier’s poor etiquette. Jaskier waited for Eskel to take the lead.

“You weren’t at training yesterday.”

That was true.

“Geralt said you quit going.”

That sounded right. He couldn’t remember the last time he went to train. He couldn’t remember the last time he went outside.

“I missed you.”

That was a nice thing to say. Jaskier pulled his eyes up to Eskel’s face to express his gratitude.

“Are you alright?”

Nothing hurt. He wasn’t too hot or too cold. He nodded. Eskel looked at him for a while but Jaskier couldn’t think of anything that felt bad, so he nodded again.

“Can I… give you a hug?”

A hug was easy, especially when someone else was giving it, so Jaskier nodded again. Eskel leaned in and gently pressed some of his weight against Jaskier above the blankets. He thought he heard Eskel sniffing, but that didn’t seem right. He was warm, even through the fabric and it was pleasant to not be alone, even if it was just for a moment. Two kind things from Eskel today. That was worth expending a little energy.

“Thanks.” His voice was thin, so he dragged an arm out from under the blanket and managed to get it around Eskel’s waist. This was nice.

Eskel stood and Jaskier’s arm was cold where Eskel had been. Before he could pull it back under the blanket, Eskel gently pinched the back of his hand and watched the fold of skin slowly ease flat. Jaskier tucked his arm away. Eskel leaned down close to touch his cheek and trace the skin under his eye. He pressed gentle fingers to Jaskier’s pulse. It was easy to lay still under the attention.

“Can you open your mouth?” He could do that for Eskel. He felt a broad thumb trace over his chapped lips and dip in to gently touch his tongue. “Good. Thank you.”

What a strange thing for Eskel to do. What a strange thing for Jaskier to enjoy. He closed his mouth and realized his tongue was rough and sticky, and perhaps it had been for a while.

He didn’t remember Eskel leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief Synopsis: Geralt pulls away from Jaskier after a few weeks without Eskel there to smooth things along. Their newfound friendship crumbles. Jaskier tries to be quiet and unobtrusive so he doesn't upset Geralt (just like he needed to with his father), then falls into a deep depression. Eskel returns and goes looking for Jaskier when he doesn't show up for morning training. He is gentle and kind to Jaskier and checks him over, realizing something is very wrong.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt fucks things up, tries to fix them, fucks that up, and tries again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an intense one but Eskel is finally here to knock some sense into Geralt.

Cassiel’s cold fire poured through Eskel. It had been a long time since he had killed something, but he felt ready today. He let himself out of Jaskier’s room through the patio door. No use being discreet; if Eskel were going to kill a man, he wanted the man to know why.

Geralt was in his usual place in the yard working through his forms. Eskel positioned himself upwind and waited.

Two breaths later, Geralt turned his way. Eskel sent him flying with a blast of _aard_ , quite satisfied to see his brother tumbling like an autumn leaf.

Geralt leapt up to face him. “What was _that_ , Eskel? How about a little warning next time you want to spar?”

“We’re not sparring, I’m protecting your fucking ward.”

Geralt sprinted toward Jaskier’s suite. Eskel flung him back again. Geralt was quick and caught himself, rolling easily to his feet to continue running.

“What the fuck are you doing, Eskel? You smell—” His pupils were huge and he was straining his senses to glean what was going on in the villa. He slammed into Eskel, trying to force his way past. That made it easy, too easy, to send a devastating punch into his gut, then an uppercut to the jaw, and a backhand across the face so hard it knocked him to the ground. Eskel pounced and pinned him down.

“I know my Brother, and my Brother would _die_ before letting anyone hurt his charge.” Eskel was thankful for the ice inside him. It numbed him. It kept away the pain so he had a clear head. “And yet you are out here and he is in there, hurting. So you better start talking _right fucking now_ , or I will put you through such torment that Kushiel himself will come to _me_ for ideas.”

Geralt looked up at him, dumbfounded. “What are you talking about?”

“What did you _do_?”

“Nothing! I didn’t do anything! Eskel, what is going on?” 

“He’s not _right_. He isn’t sick, but he’s different. _Something_ happened and either you did it or you let it happen.” Geralt was stronger, faster than any of them. How could—

“He’s fine!”

Eskel hauled him upright by the collar of his shirt and shoved him toward the door. “Let’s go, then. Prove me wrong.”

Suddenly Geralt wasn’t so keen to attend to his duty. He had warned Geralt to be a better Companion, to take better care of Jaskier, but he didn’t listen. He grabbed Geralt by the scruff of his neck and manhandled him to the door.

“No, Eskel, wait!” He started squirming to get away. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. I didn’t do anything.”

“We’ll see.”

Eskel shouldered the door open and dragged Geralt in, kicking the door shut behind them. 

Jaskier bolted up, groggy. “Eskel? Oh…” He caught sight of Geralt and huddled back down under the blankets as if to sleep, turning away.

“Jaskier, what’s going on?” Eskel tried to speak more gently.

“Nothing, darling, nothing. Just tired, is all.” Jaskier pushed himself toward Eskel, worming his way across the bed. “Let me please you.”

“Let you—” Eskel sighed, “No, thank you.”

Jaskier made a little noise like he had been kicked and Eskel froze. The sound reminded him of all the times he had injured his Brothers accidentally in his youth, when his strength was new and he didn’t know the extent of his power. Guilt twisted Eskel’s stomach; he had hurt Jaskier with his carelessness.

Eskel could hear people moving in the house and he had to return to his _own_ charge, his _own_ duty. “I have to go now,” he took a breath and leaned closer to Jaskier, “but it would please me to visit you tomorrow, Jaskier. Is that alright?”

Jaskier peeked over the blankets and nodded. He looked between Eskel and Geralt, then asked in a breathless rush, “Could I have another hug before you go?”

“Of course.” He leaned over to embrace Jaskier, this time a little longer and tighter than before. When he turned away to leave, he rubbed his nose discreetly and gave Geralt a significant look. 

“Thank you, Eskel. See you tomorrow.”

***

Tomorrow. How was he supposed to fix… whatever this was, by tomorrow? Thinking back, it had happened gradually. Jaskier had hollowed out over days and weeks while Geralt had enjoyed the peace and quiet with the rest of the house empty. Jaskier seemed to have calmed down as well. Perhaps too calm?

Geralt tried to unravel the problem like he was hunting an unknown monster. 

He assessed Jaskier. His hair was greasy, eyes sunken and dark, lips chapped and cracked. He was pretending to sleep, as he had for much of the day lately. Geralt had thought if Jaskier wanted to feign sleep, that was his own business. He did not think Eskel would agree.

Geralt tried to soften his voice like Eskel had. “Can I look at you?”

Jaskier jumped, as if he had forgotten Geralt was there. “Look…?”

When was the last time he had spoken to Jaskier? When was the last time he had focused on Jaskier at all?

“Yes, just look at you.”

Jaskier struggled out from under the blankets, stiff-jointed, and tumbled to the floor. Geralt stepped forward, arms extended, but only stood there impotently as Jaskier crawled over and propped himself up in a sick approximation of his usual kneeling pose. His shoulders were bowed, his arms wrapped loosely around his belly, his neck hung low so hair covered his face. He smelled like he’d been in those clothes for days, he didn’t smell like food or alcohol.

“What do you need?”

Geralt startled. He had intended to ask the exact same thing. “Nothing.”

Jaskier nodded and sat for a little while longer, but then shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “If you’re done with me, I’ll just…” He trailed off and nodded toward the bed.

‘ _If you’re done with me_...’ Jaskier’s words echoed through Geralt’s head. Didn’t Jaskier know Geralt would never be done with him? But how _would_ he know? He was a performer, a courtesan. Geralt didn’t pay him or fuck him or applaud. He didn’t even _look_ at Jaskier. Instead, Geralt pushed away everyone who _did_ so it was just him and Jaskier, in a clean, quiet box.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” Geralt hadn’t even said what he was apologizing for.

“I’m not at my best. You can have someone else.”

“What? I don’t want anyone else.”

Jaskier looked up at him, bleary-eyed, and reached for Geralt’s belt. “Let me please you.”

“You—” Geralt caught Jaskier’s hands, stalling for time. He needed to think this through. He couldn’t fuck this up _again_. “Can you help me in the bath? Please?”

Jaskier nodded and stood. He went pale and his knees buckled. Geralt grabbed him by the elbow and held on until he was steady. Jaskier pulled away and shuffled to their bathing room.

Geralt followed behind, not sure how to help without getting in the way. Jaskier seemed perplexed by the wide array of soaps and bath salts. This answer, Geralt knew. “Lemongrass, please.” Jaskier’s favorite. “I’m going to get a drink while the tub fills. May I pour for you?”

“That’s my line.” Jaskier sat on the floor with his arm over the edge of the tub. He seemed to have dropped in a handful of salts and then just… stayed there. “What’s going on?”

“You’re helping me take a bath. And I’m getting us drinks.”

Jaskier nodded. Geralt went to the sideboard in their room and poured water from the pitcher into two fancy goblets. He returned to the bathroom to find Jaskier in the same spot, suspended, waiting for something to happen. Geralt sat on the floor beside him with a grunt, intentionally loud so he wouldn’t startle Jaskier.

“Thank you, darling. I must have dozed off.” He took the goblet gracefully enough, but there was a wrinkle between Jaskier’s brows. He seemed to have significant difficulty summoning his posh manners. “What do we drink to?”

“Hm. Eskel’s safe return.”

“Of course.” He clinked his glass against Geralt’s and took a sip. He snorted. “I won’t tell Eskel you toasted him with water.”

Geralt smiled at the quip and let it show, then he stood to turn off the water. He swished his hand through it to dissolve the salts and cast _igni_ for good measure. The bath sent fragrant steam into the air. “Finish your cup and we’ll get started.”

Jaskier had stalled after the first sip. He worked to finish the water at Geralt’s direction. Once done, he rolled to his knees and then hauled himself to his feet, leaning on the edge of the tub. “Alright, let’s get you cleaned up.” Jaskier reached for the hem of Geralt’s shirt. 

“I can get mine, if you get yours.” The thought of being undressed by another person, by _Jaskier_ , sent a warm shiver down his spine.

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t argue. He wormed out of his oversized nightshirt and braies. Geralt didn’t even know where they had come from. They certainly didn’t look like anything Jaskier would own. Underneath, Jaskier looked thin and pale, like a plant left in a dark room.

Geralt startled at the feeling of hands on his hips. “C’mon, up.” Jaskier was drawing Geralt’s tunic over his head before he could react. Then deft fingers were working at the rope belt of his training pants. Geralt stepped back and handled the rest. Jaskier didn’t seem offended. Geralt got into the big tub and watched in confusion as Jaskier went around behind him and drew a stool to the edge. 

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you bathe.”

“I thought… we could do it like before.”

There was a long pause while Jaskier digested that. “If you’d like.”

“That’s what I want.”

Jaskier eased into the tub, eyelashes fluttering as he sank into the hot water. Almost immediately he moved to Geralt’s side.

“Can we just soak for a few minutes?”

Jaskier relented, leaning against the opposite end of the tub. They sat with their own thoughts for a long time, long enough for the water to cool. Geralt sent more fire into the water and the sudden heat roused Jaskier. He pulled his head from where it had rested on the ledge but looked at his fingers tracing through the cloudy water rather than at Geralt.

"Do they tell you why Cassilines are allowed to pleasure themselves, even though you're supposed to be celibate?"

The question felt louder than Jaskier’s voice had made it. Geralt let the 'supposed to' pass and did not ask _how_ Jaskier knew they were allowed to— he focused on the essence of the question. “No, no one ever talked about it." He shrugged. "Too many randy boys would kill each other?"

"I think it's allowed because it's different. It's not about spilling your seed. It's different when it's with someone else. When it's _for_ someone else." His tone was pensive and it seemed to cost him a great deal to speak. 

“Hm.” Geralt thought back to how it felt when he had given in, the first night Jaskier went to Charles, how intensely he felt the desire and how the pleasure had pierced through him more deeply than ever before. He had only _thought_ about Jaskier at the moment of climax. He couldn’t imagine the overwhelming sensations if Jaskier had _been_ there. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“Well, I suppose I am the expert.” Jaskier had a little self-deprecating smile on his lips. 

“Could—” 

“Oh, of course.” Jaskier snapped out of his contemplative mood and headed for Geralt.

“No, ah”—it was okay, it was okay to ask for things, there was nothing improper about it—“Could you teach me how to do it? For you?”

Jaskier looked pole-axed. His cheeks flushed and he sunk down a bit in the water. “I— Are you sure—”

Geralt felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “You don’t have to. I’m sorry I asked. I thought it was okay… since we’re,” his eyes flickered to Jaskier’s face and then away, “friends, so I could do it for you. Forget it.” Fuck, he was absolutely ruining everything. He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. Could Cassilines trade? Charles didn’t seem to be the talkative type. Eskel was a much better match for Jaskier. He sunk down under the water and waited to drown.

Death did not come quickly. He popped his head above water and forced himself to meet eyes with Jaskier who was smiling softly, bemused. Not at all in the vicious way Lambert smiled when Geralt made an ass of himself. That was a small mercy.

“What are you asking me to teach you?” He seemed genuinely confused, but not offended.

“How to wash…” Comprehension dawned. “Oh, oh, _no_. Not— not _that_.” Was catastrophic embarrassment acceptable justification for using the _terminus_? He had just propositioned a Servant of Naamah. While they were naked. In a bathtub.

“Oh, no, please don’t leave!” Geralt hadn’t realized he was halfway out of the bath until Jaskier called him back. “You _precious_ thing. I’m so sorry I misunderstood. I’ve dug that rut rather deep, I’m bound to fall in now and again.” He laughed, high and shrill, and shook his head. “I would be happy to teach you, my dear Companion. I’m sure Cassiel enjoyed a bath with Blessed Elua as much as anyone would.”

Geralt took the proffered hand and returned to the water, still red in the face. Jaskier looked ragged and tired, but there was a hint of that cheeky grin on his face. Hearing him laugh might have been worth the embarrassment.

“Lucky for you, I am both a master attendant and instructor. Now, the most important thing is to never startle the bather. Speak quietly and maintain contact with some part of their body as you move around them."

Geralt pressed a hand to Jaskier’s shoulder and was surprised by the tension he felt there. Jaskier was stiff and his skin was chilled.

"Are you alright?" Geralt could feel something looming, a sense of impending doom. Jaskier trembled under his hand. 

"Don’t—" a little sob rolled through Jaskier. "Please. I'll go, I won't fight. Don't toy with me any more," his voice was raspy and thick. His facade of good cheer was crumbling away. "I knew what you wanted, but I couldn't— I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to Eskel. I'll go."

Geralt recoiled, alarmed by the sudden change in Jaskier. "Go? Go where?"

"Just tell me. Please don't make me beg for it. I promise I'll do better." He finished in hardly more than a whisper. He wouldn't meet Geralt’s eyes and silent tears rolled down his face. He was so _quiet._

Geralt stepped out of the bath, gently pulling Jaskier along. Jaskier’s body seemed to be empty, little more than a shell. He dried them both, movements slow and gentle, and led Jaskier into the bedroom. A flicker of life in an otherwise vacant face— his blue eyes locked onto the wardrobe. Maybe he wanted to get dressed? Geralt opened the door and turned to Jaskier, drawing breath to ask what he would like to wear.

Jaskier was beside him in a heartbeat, reaching into the cabinet and pulling out an armful of garments, throwing them to the floor. He dipped inside for more of his beautiful, delicate things and dashed them away with frantic energy. Geralt watched, stunned, only able to rouse himself as the final items were cast aside and Jaskier stepped inside the wardrobe.

"What are you _doing_?" Geralt hauled the other man out with an arm around his belly. The stench of fear blindsided him.

"I— I thought—" he looked between Geralt and the wardrobe and back. "Where?" He cast around the room and his eyes landed on the gap beneath the bed, he dropped to his belly and scrambled forward.

"No, Jaskier, _no._ " Geralt fell to his knees and wrapped both arms around him tightly. "I'm not— I'm not putting you in a—" he choked on the words. "I would _never_."

Jaskier was sobbing inconsolably now, clinging to Geralt in a pile of his treasured possessions. Geralt tipped back onto his rump and pulled Jaskier into his lap, rocking and soothing as best as he could. They were both stammering apologies to each other, and Geralt could feel tears on his own face. He was confused and upset, desperately wishing to be anywhere but here, and ashamed that he wanted to leave Jaskier in such a state. He had to be strong, for both of them. 

"I'm going to pick you up and take you to the bed." Geralt flinched when Jaskier let out a shrill cry. "No, no, _in_ the bed, on top of it. I'll be right there with you."

He hefted Jaskier, who was lighter than he remembered, and climbed onto the bed with the man in his arms. He pulled the blankets over Jaskier and drew away, wanting to give them both space. Jaskier held fast, so Geralt settled in beside him, tugging a corner of the blanket over his own lap. It didn't feel appropriate to have this discussion nude, but perhaps it was a good metaphor. Prose wasn’t Geralt’s strong suit. He could ask Jaskier about it later, if he got the chance. 

He sighed and combed his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. He was even dirtier now than he had been before, sweaty and tear-streaked. Geralt drew Jaskier to his chest. Jaskier slept, and Geralt guarded. Though it was daytime, he lit every candle and left them burning.

***

Hours later, there was a scratch on the door. He tried to ease out from under Jaskier without waking him, but the man was stuck like a barnacle. He peeled Jaskier off and felt instantly guilty. Jaskier looked up at him with huge, wet eyes.

"I'm just going to the door, I'm not leaving." Jaskier remained unconvinced. "I'll be right back."

He pulled open the door to find a tray heaped with food, a pot of tea, and a small vase of flowers. There was a card on which "Best wishes for a swift recovery" was written with an elegant hand. Eskel had covered for them with Charles, Geralt was sure of it. He owed his Brother a significant debt for this; he would rather service Charles _himself_ than see Jaskier go in his current state— and wasn’t _that_ an uncomfortable thought.

He set the tray on the bedside table and wrapped his arms back around Jaskier. He considered Naamah and how she slept with the King of Persis in exchange for Elua’s freedom, then laid down in the slums of Bhodistan to earn coin so Elua would not go hungry. He thought he understood, now, how her sacrifice might not be less than Cassiel’s, only different. A Cassiline’s greatest sacrifice was to give up his life to protect his charge; Naamah chose to give her body, over and over, and embodied that choice for the rest of her days.

“What’s got you so quiet?” Jaskier wiggled a bit so he could look into Geralt’s eyes. A worry line marred the skin between his brows, belying his playful tone. Geralt was always quiet. He rubbed the wrinkle away with his thumb.

“Thinking about Naamah.” Geralt turned and poured tea into the solitary cup, handing it to Jaskier.

“Considering a change? You wouldn’t be the oldest to dedicate themselves to—”

“Merely scholarly contemplation.” He raised his brows at Jaskier in mock rebuke.

“Ah.” Jaskier sipped at his tea, perhaps feeling a little too tender to be teased right now.

Geralt berated himself internally for misjudging Jaskier's mood. He buttered a piece of bread, simply for something to do, and offered it to Jaskier. Jaskier took the bread and handed over the tea.

“What do you know about becoming a Cassiline?”

“Almost nothing, outside the obvious. Families send boys in their tenth year. You train, then you fight monsters, then you protect someone.” He shrugged and added, “No sex.”

Geralt sipped at the tea to hide his discomfort. Jaskier held out the buttered bread and exchanged it for the mug. Geralt took a bite and chewed slowly.

“Families send boys at ten, but orphans go earlier. As soon as they can be managed without a nursemaid.” He cleared his throat and continued, “Eskel and I, we both came from different places—orphaned on opposite sides of Terre d’Ange. But we ended up on the same onion cart travelling to Siovalle, bound for the monastery. We were inseparable from the start. It’s hard to grow up there. The only thing they know is how to train boys to be Cassiel’s priests.” His hands were empty, and so was Jaskier’s cup. Geralt took it away and filled it, taking a sip out of reflex to soothe his aching throat.

“Much of Cassiline training is mental. You have to push away your emotions, be cool and calm and still.” He closed his eyes and saw the imaginary shell he had built around himself. He let the image go. “There are rooms. Training rooms. Where you go when you need time to collect yourself.” He looked at Jaskier, sensing a change in the other man. “It’s dark and quiet, and you stay as long as you want.” Jaskier’s eyes skittered away to the wardrobe and then back. “No one _ever_ forced you to go. You _chose_ to, if the world outside became too much.

“I spent much of my childhood down there. Any time I was parted from Eskel, I couldn’t control myself. It got worse after the Trials.” He sipped from the tea and set it aside. “I went through— I underwent the torture and the mutations twice. I don’t know why I had to. It made me… more. More than my Brothers. More powerful, but more emotional. It took years for me to gain control.” He handed Jaskier a piece of cheese and ate one himself.

“It’s hard to forget the things we learn at that age. I wanted to learn control because it meant I could stay with Eskel. Once Lambert joined us, I needed it even more.” He shot a crooked grin at Jaskier. “He’s unbelievably crude, always has been. You’d like him.”

Jaskier smiled back but stayed quiet. Geralt shifted on the bed, remembering their nudity and feeling suddenly less at ease.

“I think I learned my lessons too well. I lock away my true self when Eskel’s not around. It used to be my choice, but I think it became a prison.” Jaskier looked very uncomfortable at this thread of conversation. Geralt shook his head and held his hands out. Jaskier spread his hands over Geralt’s and waited. It was easy to curl their fingers together. Stroking his thumbs across the backs of Jaskier’s hands seemed right, so he did it. Jaskier smiled and it eased the tightness in his chest.

“What you said about Cassiel was right. Of course he enjoyed spending time with Elua. He wasn’t just Elua’s sworn protector, he _loved_ Elua. He followed him for the rest of his life, taking no spouse, no lovers, no property. His home was Elua, who said ‘ _love as thou wilt_ ’ and Cassiel _did_. He didn’t harden his heart or shun his emotions, he embraced them.” Geralt took a breath, trying to sort out his chaotic thoughts.

“I was cruel to you, Jaskier. I’m so used to pushing my feelings away, I didn’t even notice I was doing it. Worse than that, I tried to force _your_ feelings away, too. I apologize, Jaskier, and I swear I’ll do better, I’ll _be_ better, for you. From the bottom of my heart, I beg you to forgive me.” He was squeezing Jaskier’s hands, tighter than he should have. He tried to let go but Jaskier held firm and leaned in to press their foreheads together.

This close, Geralt could count every eyelash, every freckle on Jaskier’s face. He shook his hands free of Jaskier’s and placed his fingertips on Jaskier’s cheeks.

Geralt sat back for a moment, looking deeply into Jaskier’s blue, blue eyes. They looked unflinchingly back at him. Jaskier trusted him to do the right thing. Geralt leaned forward again, pressing his lips gently to Jaskier’s mouth in the kiss of greeting. He would start fresh, and begin their partnership anew.

He slowly opened his eyes, not knowing when he had closed them. Jaskier was crying again, but a smile lit up his face.

“You can’t just _say_ things like that. My poet’s heart can’t take it.” Jaskier launched forward to wrap his arms around Geralt and only his superhuman reflexes kept them from tumbling down onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends Part 2. It should be all sunshine and roses from here on out, right?


	12. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys figure out a new normal.

The second time Jaskier went to Charles, Geralt did not need to patrol the perimeter. He stayed by Eskel’s side, guarding the door, the perfect Companion. He escorted Jaskier back to their room and made sure he was clean and comfortable before bed. If he laid awake until the small hours of the morning and then stroked himself to a rapid completion in the privy, that was nobody’s business but his own.

He had himself under control. His friendship with Jaskier helped release some of the pressure that had driven him to madness the first time. He had learned to control the beastly hunger just like he had learned to control his strength or his magic. Geralt had no trouble remaining in the hall outside Charles’ room from then on. He could be the Companion that Jaskier needed him to be.

Once, midday, Charles called for Jaskier. It was unusual not only for the timing but also for the way Jaskier acted afterwards. He was withdrawn and there was a little stiffness in his movements that reminded Geralt of the days before, when Jaskier had put his heart in a box to protect it from Geralt.

“Are you alright?”

Jaskier whipped around and stared with wide eyes, still not accustomed to Geralt concerning himself with Jaskier’s moods. He gave half a smile and rolled his eyes.

“It just happens, sometimes. It can’t always be a blessing from Naamah.”

“What happens?” Geralt wasn’t _interested_ in the closed-door business of Naamah’s Servants, he just wanted to understand what had Jaskier so bent out of shape.

“It wasn’t what I wanted. It… hm… it filled my belly but didn’t satisfy the hunger.” He winked at Geralt, acknowledging the turn of phrase. Geralt was proud of himself when he didn’t feel the usual burn of embarrassment. Extended exposure to Jaskier seemed to be building up his tolerance for bawdy jokes. He took a moment to think about the situation, finding himself disappointed on Jaskier’s behalf and thinking unkind thoughts about Charles for his apparent selfishness. This was an unpleasant side effect of being more accepting of his feelings; he had a lot of them, and it wasn’t always enjoyable to bring them out into the light and call them by name.

Jaskier puttered around in his dressing gown, picking at this and that, trying to settle himself.

Cassilines set aside their emotions so that in times of danger, they could react calmly and logically. The inverse to that was recklessness, impulsivity. There weren’t any threats here, it was just him and Jaskier, safe.

“I’m going to take a nap.”

Jaskier flicked a glance at him in surprise, as Geralt was not a habitual layabout, but did no more than hum in acknowledgement and continued rummaging through the wardrobe. Geralt pulled off his shirt and threw it over the wardrobe door, catching Jaskier’s eye. Then he flung himself down on his back in the middle of Jaskier’s bed and, to all appearances, fell asleep.

He held himself very still, relying on his enhanced senses to avoid startlement. He had never spent casual time in Jaskier’s bed before, only sleeping there when circumstances demanded it. It was quite a nice bed. He felt himself relaxing into the thick mattress and fluffy pillows. Jaskier’s scent surrounded him and he had to focus to pick up on the fresh scents of the man as he was now: awake, smelling like sweet pea soap that didn’t suit him, sweating slightly, aroused. There was a distinct difference, Geralt had learned, between the smell of a hard cock wanting to be touched and _desire_. Jaskier had taught him many things, very few of them intentionally. He smelled desire now, and felt a curl of smugness inside his chest.

He could do this, he could lay here and sleep so Jaskier could take care of himself and feel better. He wasn’t dishonoring his vow of chastity, he was doing nothing at all. Simply resting and giving his ward the privacy he needed.

There were quiet steps beside the bed, followed by a feeling of weight, tilting his body slightly toward Jaskier. He felt Jaskier exhale slowly and the wave of air rippled over his chest, raising goosebumps and peaking his nipples.

“I fear I presume too much. I would sooner die than debase you.”

Geralt could tell him nothing, since he was sound asleep. There was nothing to say. He could hear the _shiff_ of silk falling away, the scuff of skin on skin for a few moments. He was jostled, slightly, and felt pressure on either side of his body, two warm legs nestled around his hips and arms. It was a very nice way to sleep.

For several long moments he drifted, somewhere between sleeping and meditation. He could smell Jaskier’s arousal and desire growing ever more potent, though he couldn’t feel or hear any movement. Whatever Jaskier looked at or thought about was of no concern to Geralt. There was the smell of sweet oil, a huff of breath through a partially-open mouth. The hot presence he hadn’t noticed over his belly drew away slightly, there were wet noises he need not identify. The gentle motion of the bed rocked and soothed him, despite its increasing tempo.

Soon after, the weight over his hips shifted, and there was a new slick sound, new smells to inhale and ignore— but wait… he took a deep breath, opening his mouth slightly to fully perceive it. That musky-sour smell did not belong to them, it must have been carried within Jaskier’s body. Geralt flinched slightly, restless in his dreams, unsure whether to attack or to claim. The back of his hand brushed the warm skin of Jaskier’s inner thigh and the breathy ‘fuck, _yes_ ’ calmed his nerves.

He was overwhelmed by a bitter-salt scent he was growing familiar with and tried to brace himself internally so he would not flinch again. It did not help. As hot rain pattered against his chest, his wrist rolled, trailing skin against skin. There was a gasp and the storm echoed, lighter and softer, but with the same heat.

Eventually, he heard the flat of an arm thud against the headboard and felt heaving breath stir his hair. The warmth drew away, and Geralt prepared to let himself fall deeper into sleep. Before he could succumb, there were hot-wet-slick strokes over the muscles of his torso, curling once around his nipple, breath so close it stirred the hair on his body. He stepped away from the outside, went further into himself to keep from waking up and begging for more of that feeling. He didn’t need more. He was sleeping. There was a single drop of moisture over his collarbone that did not need to be cleaned away. He could smell it, and he stayed perfectly still so it would not roll elsewhere.

Time passed, there was movement illustrated in pressure and shifting air.

“I feel much better now.” Jaskier’s soft voice, at the edge of his dream.

He was glad Jaskier found satisfaction and pleased to have given him the space to do so. They slept, deep and dreamless.

***

Days at the villa were happier now. The summer heat was at its peak and they spent many days splashing in the waves, practicing acrobatics and dancers’ throws in the water where Jaskier wouldn’t get hurt. Jaskier even managed to lift Geralt a few times, a feat he bragged about whenever the opportunity presented itself. Eskel kept a wary eye on them at first, but Geralt and Jaskier worked hard to understand each other and they both flourished.

Geralt wasn’t sure if their closeness caused the change or if the change caused their closeness, but what happened before went from once, to twice, to every time. Jaskier seemed to always return from his liaisons with Charles carrying a hard edge that hadn’t melted completely away through his Service.

On a particularly balmy night, Jaskier luxuriated in finding his satisfaction. It went on much longer than Geralt would have ever imagined, certainly more time than Geralt had ever needed. It was hard for Geralt to retreat from his body for so long to give Jaskier privacy. He kept getting distracted, finding himself categorizing and comparing the various noises Jaskier made, wondering what he was doing to cause it or what he looked like as the sound left him. Jaskier was physically more distant than usual, kneeling between Geralt’s legs rather than over his torso. He inhaled deeply, as if to smell Geralt’s body where his scent was most potent. Every exhale sent cool air rippling over the tender skin of Geralt’s hips and belly, and disturbed the hair that grew there.

Jaskier spent himself onto the towel he had laid out and collapsed down with his face in Geralt’s belly. He lingered there for long moments, the heat of his face and neck searing through Geralt’s sleep pants. It was hard to lay still against that torturous pressure, right where he needed to control himself the most. Jaskier finally, _finally_ , slouched into the privy to wash up.

Geralt freed his cock and groaned in relief. Jaskier’s humming paused and Geralt silently begged Naamah to intercede with her scion and keep Jaskier away for just a little longer. Geralt swirled his thumb over and around his slit and growled at how good it felt. He wrung his pleasure out as swiftly as he could, letting his other hand wander to fill his body with those good feelings.

There was a breathless silence from the other room, but still Jaskier did not return. He licked his thumb and traced over his nipples as Jaskier had once done with his tongue. He then slid his hand lower and discovered he liked to trace a finger around his own entrance, though he doubted he’d ever overcome his shyness enough to use the oil. The strange-good tease drew a shivering moan from him and he ignored the whispered curse from the privy.

The possibility of being overheard—or worse, discovered—sent a thrill through him and he pressed just firmly enough to breach himself with the pad of his finger, twisting his other wrist to focus attention on the head of his cock. He arched hard into the dual sensations and tumbled headlong into orgasm.

Before he could regain a single coherent thought, Jaskier flew back into the room and leaped onto the bed, leaning down over Geralt and licking away his seed as though he had no other goal in life. Geralt writhed on the mattress, overstimulated by Jaskier’s tongue across his ribs but held in place by the weight of Jaskier’s hands on his hips. Despite Geralt’s erratic movements, Jaskier avoided his prick entirely. Geralt’s own hands had not shifted since his release had rendered him briefly catatonic and his body was reawakening as he squirmed from the ticklish feeling of kitten licks moving up his chest. Jaskier flicked his tongue against Geralt’s nipple, then switched to the other one and the spectacular _goodness_ of the feeling made Geralt’s hands clench in reflex, and he spent once more against his abdomen.

Jaskier keened and tugged at Geralt’s waistband. He quickly withdrew his hand and tucked himself away. Jaskier flattened himself to the bed between Geralt’s legs, grinding into the mattress with abandon. His head rested on Geralt’s hip and he lapped up the mess between whimpers of pleasure. He came quickly, which seemed to be the norm for second times, as far as Geralt’s limited experience indicated. Luckily he hadn’t yet cleaned up the towel from before and by the time they rearranged themselves on the bed there were no uncomfortable messes.

Jaskier gave him an intensely questioning look, but Geralt shook his head and shrugged, not understanding the question. It was a new experience for him, but hardly different from the days of him and Eskel in a dorm simultaneously seeking relief from the same stiff breeze. Whatever Jaskier wanted could wait until the morning. Geralt rolled over and fell easily asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected guests arrive at the villa and tensions rise.

The week before they were due to leave for the City of Elua, there was a commotion at the front of the house. Jaskier had largely ignored the comings and goings of various houseguests as, despite the luxurious lodgings, he was more employee than honored guest during this visit. He was curious to see Geralt put his ear to the inner door and listen intently with a furrowed brow. No matter how much he pestered, he wouldn’t share his concerns with Jaskier, so he chalked the matter up as Cassiline Strangeness.

The next morning, he was delighted to have their training interrupted early on by two handsome men leering and whistling, which was absolutely Jaskier’s favorite form of interruption. He had been practicing walking on his hands and flipped to his feet neatly, always happy to flaunt for an admiring audience.

One of the men looked Aragonian, with wavy black hair, golden-brown skin, and thick, expressive brows. Every piece of him, from his clothes to his posture, spoke of nobility and wealth, but his physique showed he didn’t fall victim to excess. The other man was a touch shorter than Jaskier, with the thick body and light tread of a Cassiline. A scar ran from hairline to jaw, more roguish than Eskel’s and not distracting as much from his yellow eyes. His pale face reddened under his scruff and he jostled companionably with the other man as they approached.

“You jesters gonna perform on the Longest Night? It’s bound to be more fun than the Vigil. Maybe I’ll join you.”

Geralt and Eskel paused in their movements and traded a glance, then carried on as if they hadn’t heard.

“Is that any way to treat your own Brother? I’m wounded!” He gripped dramatically at his own chest and staggered, falling into the waiting arms of the other man.

“What a pity, cut down in the line of avoiding his duty.” Jaskier had only seen Lambert once, from afar, but he had a distinctive look— his aquiline nose, his short-cropped black hair high at the temples. He tempered the jibe with a wink and a smile but the prickly Cassiline wasn’t having it.

“Who the fuck are you?” His tone indicated _he_ would be the only one spitting smart remarks today.

“Jaskier, my charge.” Geralt had silently taken position just behind Jaskier and the growl from over his shoulder made Jaskier jump with surprise. He stepped towards the newcomers to add a little breathing room between them— he could feel Geralt’s torso hot on his skin even through both their shirts.

“Wonderful to finally meet you, Lambert. I’ve heard _so much_ about you.” He was hardly the rudest man Jaskier had ever met, and it would be a fun diversion to chip away at him. Jaskier reached his forearm out and Lambert gripped it roughly, managing not to squeeze _too_ hard, though it seemed he very much wanted to. Jaskier turned away as the Brothers greeted in their silent way, with hands at the nape of each other’s neck and foreheads pressed together. He envied their closeness.

The nobleman smiled broadly, and it put charming creases in his cheeks. “Allow me to introduce myself. If we waited for my Companion to do the honors I fear we would live in suspense until our judgment day. I am Aiden de Parnasse.” He nodded his head to all, minimizing his status and treating them as equals. “I had hoped to make your acquaintance upon my return to the City, but the fates have humored my impatience.” Aiden gripped Jaskier’s shoulders warmly and gave him the kiss of greeting.

Jaskier was embarrassed at the flutter in his breast and hoped the heat on his face was from the rising sun and not a blush. He enjoyed Aiden's courtly manners after so long with stoic company and though he was an excellent bard, that was not clearly not the kind of performance he had been sought out for. 

“It is a rare gift from Naamah to see a gem of the Night Court under the shining light of day. I hope I will have a chance to offer one in kind, here and upon your return." He was a bold one, implying a second _assignation_ when a first had not yet been granted. Shimmering heat seared down Jaskier’s spine. He missed boldness, and fire, and passion.

He realized Aiden was still holding his shoulders and stepped away, bumping into Geralt who had crept up behind him again. The other Cassilines watched silently, Lambert with a cunning interest that Jaskier marked for further consideration.

"I am here as a guest of my lord Charles, and thus my nights belong to him. However, I could offer you a gift rarer still, in hopes you will not be discouraged by delay."

Aiden chuckled and paced a bit, observing Jaskier from a different angle. "You honor me with your suggestion, Jaskier." His name purred between those lips and Jaskier’s heart thumped against his ribs. "What surety has Naamah whispered in your ear?" He tilted his chin down and looked up at Jaskier as though _Aiden_ was the one supplicating. His brow creased and his eyes shone. Jaskier acknowledged he was _very_ good. 

"It feels like a lifetime since I was well-matched." Jaskier knew what to do with men like Aiden. "Fancy a scrap?"

There was a heavy silence, like the moment between a song’s final note and roaring applause.

All at once: Geralt growling his name, Eskel’s disbelieving snort, Aiden’s shocked laugh. Jaskier had already turned away to strip off his loose training shirt, moving slowly and stretching tall as he did so. The base of his marque would be teasingly nebulous through his white braies and he already knew the answer he would get.

Lambert whistled and shook his head. “Go get ‘im, tiger.” He gave Aiden a sharp swat on the ass when he didn’t step forward fast enough. _Interesting_. That got Aiden moving and he stripped off his own shirt and shoes.

Geralt leaned in and spoke in an undertone, “I don’t trust this one. He looks like he’ll fight dirty.” Jaskier met his serious expression with a smirk.

“That’s what I’m hoping for.”

***

He had practiced sparring techniques with Geralt and Eskel, but their intentional slowness and pulled punches irked him from the start. Wrestling with someone of a similar build would be good fun and the awkward-but-interested audience of Cassilines only sweetened it.

“First to three?” He fluttered his lashes at Aiden as though he had no idea what it meant.

“If you like.” Aiden smiled indulgently, trailing his eyes over Jaskier’s body.

Jaskier blew a kiss at him and caught Geralt rolling his eyes. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

They nodded to each other, all polite smiles. Then Jaskier vaulted forward, ramming Aiden in the stomach and bearing him down to the ground. He wheezed as Jaskier plopped down on his belly, bracing hands on Aiden’s shoulders and shins on Aiden’s thighs.

Lambert was howling with laughter. “He fucken’ _nailed_ you, kitty-cat! Just—” he made a whistling noise while he cut his hand through the air like a crossbow bolt and crashed it into his other hand dramatically, “—thud.” Apparently even his ward wasn’t spared his sharp tongue.

Aiden turned a sour look on his Companion then gave Jaskier a slow second glance. He wiggled his hips slightly and Jaskier hopped off, pulling Aiden to his feet. He basked in the look of pride on Geralt’s face as he walked back to his side of their improvised ring. 

This time, Aiden was more cautious. He kept his eyes on Jaskier’s torso to watch for sudden movements. Jaskier sized him up, prancing and spinning as though this were all a grand game… and it was, in a way. Aiden got in close and gave him a few little dainty punches across the ribs. Geralt growled and Jaskier angled towards him, as if to soothe his concern. Aiden came in close behind him, looping an arm over Jaskier’s shoulder and down to his ribs as though to bully him down to the grass. Jaskier grabbed Aiden’s free arm and dropped to one knee, letting gravity pull them both. He landed on his side over Aiden and they quickly devolved into a rolling mass of limbs, grappling and pulling at each other with little impact. Aiden tried to break away and Jaskier tangled himself between the other man’s knees, dropping him and scrambling across his back to grab Aiden’s arms from behind. He held for a moment and then released when Aiden nodded.

He got up and grinned at Eskel, who looked surprised and delighted. Lambert was whispering, one arm wrapped across Aiden’s collarbone and pressing to his cheek, holding his ear close to Lambert’s mouth. Jaskier approached Geralt, feeling feral and lusty. His Companion grinned, revealing sharp canines and there was a sweet flush decorating his cheekbones. Jaskier noticed Geralt’s cock was a little thicker in his trousers than usual but he intentionally avoided staring, not wanting to embarrass his shy friend. Instead, he growled playfully and made his hands into claws, raking them through the air. As he turned back towards Aiden, he nearly lost his footing when Geralt’s huge palm cracked across his rump. Clearly he was learning by example but Lambert was an awful role model. He felt blood pooling under the handprint and let it push him forward like a brand.

Jaskier and Aiden came together almost immediately and they each scrambled to gain the advantage. Whatever Lambert said must have been encouraging because Aiden fought like a wildcat. They pushed and pulled, hardly able to get far enough away to trade blows. They ended up back in the grass but no matter how often Aiden got over him, Jaskier would weasel his way out. Between the smell of sweat, their harsh breaths, the squirming and grinding, and the sense-memory of Geralt’s hand on his ass, Jaskier was achingly hard by the time Aiden chose to yield. He almost didn’t want to stop, he wanted to bite into Aiden’s shoulder and—

He shook himself mentally and got up, smirking at how Aiden’s eyes lingered on his heavy prick, on his chest hair, matted with sweat, on his mouth, bleeding just a little from a lucky elbow. Jaskier licked his lips and spit, then gave an elegant courtier’s bow.

“I hope my lord found the entertainment to his liking.” Jaskier knew he had. Aiden was nearly as hard as Jaskier, and his manly grunts had been edged with a moan whenever Jaskier pinned him facedown.

“You undersold yourself, saying we were evenly matched.” Aiden grinned and treated himself to another long look at what Jaskier had on offer. “But it’s a battle I’d gladly lose again, if given the chance.” Aiden bowed in return, looping an arm around Lambert’s waist and staggering off to their guest quarters.

“Lambert’s never going to let Aiden live it down; he’s competitive to a fault.” Eskel came forward and clapped a big hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Didn’t know you had it in you.” His grin tugged at his scars and made his whole face light up.

“I did.” Geralt slid his arm around Jaskier’s waist, grabbing his hip and using it to turn him back towards their room. “Let’s get you cleaned up before Charles sees his favorite pet out here fighting like a back-alley cur.”

“But I _am_ a back-alley cur.” He snapped his teeth toward Geralt’s ear and couldn’t say if it was the other man’s reflexes or his own exhaustion that prevented him from getting a solid bite. 

“Get going before I put a leash on you.”

He let his head flop onto Geralt’s shoulder and hollered “Bye, Eskel,” as he was led away.

***

As soon as the door closed, Lambert threw the bolt and kicked Aiden’s legs out from under him. He controlled the fall just enough so Aiden wasn’t injured on the tile, but still reminded him who he was dealing with.

“I thought I told you I was the only one allowed to pin you down like this, kitten.” He relished the shudder that rolled through Aiden’s body. “But then you let that little _bitch_ mount like you were _his_.” He was restless and angry that Geralt’s pretty whore had shamed Aiden in front of his Brothers. "Didn't I tell you no?"

Aiden whined. Lambert dug his fingers into Aiden's hair and used it to pull his head back. It felt so good to have that sweet ass pressed against him. Watching Aiden wrestle with Geralt’s whore had made his blood boil with jealousy. Lambert had few things to call his own. He had his swords, his daggers, his vambraces… and his ward. He had _told_ Aiden not to let someone take what was his, and Aiden let him down.

“You _said_ you could handle it. You _said_ you wanted to make him yield. But you didn’t do it. Did you even want to?”

“I did! I tried! I’m sorry. I didn’t want him to pin me.” Aiden’s dark eyes were wet and his pulse beat rapidly.

Lambert let out a deep sigh, letting more of his weight rest on Aiden’s back. “I should have known. A soft little thing like you, how could I expect you to fight your base instincts?” He released Aiden’s hair and stroked along the back of his neck. He revered Aiden’s scarless amber skin, his clean sweat laced through with lust, his tight body rutting tiny circles against Lambert. “Someone overpowers you and you can’t help but roll over for them.” He thought carefully about his next move. His body said _take take take_ but Aiden had been given to him for safekeeping. Lambert had to remind Aiden to know his own limits and look to Lambert first instead of looking for trouble.

That was what had gotten them into this mess in the first place, back when Aiden had been assigned to Lambert’s care. The very first night, Aiden said he was headed to Mandrake House to fuck one of Naamah’s Servants and not ten minutes after they arrived Lambert had to kick down the door because some _amateur_ thought they’d get cute with a switch and wasn’t listening close enough to hear the difference between pain and injury. It kept happening, over and over, so many close calls in such a short amount of time. A different night, his paid company didn’t stop when Aiden’s pulse went thready after choking him a moment too long. Once, a whore got caught up in the moment and didn’t notice Aiden desperately trying to tap the _signale_ against the headboard after they’d tied him up and fucked his face.

That had been the last straw. If he wanted to hurt, the only person he could trust was Lambert. Aiden was _his_ , his _treasure_ , the one good fucking thing in his life and Lambert took care of his belongings. Aiden needed his care now. He was aching and desperate and ashamed of himself for disappointing Lambert. He needed a lesson and then a reward, in that order.

“C’mon, sweetness. Up and over.”

Lambert left Aiden on the floor and sat on the padded bench at the foot of Aiden’s bed. He rolled up his sleeves as Aiden stripped and scrambled into his lap. “Tell me what happened.”

“I—” Too quick, a liar’s tell. He flicked Aiden’s sac before he could close his legs, chuckling at the yelp he got in response.

“No excuses. Think about it, and then tell me what happened.” He stroked along Aiden’s naked back, pressing firmly over his ass when he arched into the light petting. He pulled back his left hand and started laying into Aiden, working from the top curve of Aiden’s ass to mid thigh methodically, overlapping the strokes. He squirmed and kicked, particularly at the thin skin above the knee and the highest part of his ass where soft flesh tightened into muscle. It took a little while to raise color on his skin, but eventually Aiden’s right leg was beautifully flushed, contrasting so nicely with the untouched skin on the left.

Aiden inhaled deeply, ready to talk. Lambert started working on his left leg, enjoying how Aiden bit the words out between blows. “I wanted to impress you. I knew I couldn’t win, but I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t good enough.” Aiden gritted his teeth but finally got the last part out in a rush, whispering, “I wanted to touch him.”

“Flip over, let me look at you.” Aiden’s throat clicked when he swallowed and Lambert reminded himself to make sure Aiden got a drink before long. Lambert leaned away and widened his legs, pushing back farther onto the bench. He didn’t try to support Aiden while he figured out the new position. He was smart and had relatively good balance; he’d suss it out eventually.

Aiden settled himself with his ass between Lambert’s thighs, legs stretched down the bench, his sharply arched back over Lambert’s right leg. “You may hold onto my knee and my belt, if you need to.” Aiden did need to, always grabby once the pain set in.

Lambert spent a moment assessing the man in front of him, checking for any damage from all that roughhousing. A few bruises here or there, but nothing serious. Geralt’s whore was quick and wiley but he hadn’t intended to wound. That was good; Lambert wasn’t in the mood to kick Geralt’s ass right now. Aiden’s cock was hard, dribbling against the soft hair on his stomach. He had been hard for a long time, it was probably getting uncomfortable. The smell filled the room, potent and powerful.

“Show me where it hurts,” Lambert crooned. Aiden’s brow furrowed, he was unsure how to manage that without flipping back over. He cautiously crossed his ankles and drew his knees up to his chest, watching Lambert’s face for guidance. Lambert met his eyes, revealing nothing. Aiden exhaled and tried to draw his knees tighter to his chest. He held it for a few moments, but eventually had to relax back down.

“Can you help, please, Lambert?”

“Yes, my lord.” He rewarded Aiden with a smile and a sharp twist to his nipple. Then he tucked his right elbow into the backs of Aiden’s knees and pressed until the man was curled up, calves by Lambert’s ear, sweet red ass presented like a feast. The position stretched his newly-bruised skin to its limit. Lambert brushed his calloused left hand over and over across the tender crease at the top of Aiden’s thighs. At first it was a gentle tease, but the skin quickly became over-sensitive and Aiden started to squirm.

"That's all you have to say. I'll always help when you ask." Lambert started scratching a cross-hatch of lines into Aiden’s ass, moving ever closer to his hole, giving Aiden time to consider what Lambert wasn’t saying.

Aiden hummed just as Lambert dug in to trace the seam of his midline, tailbone to scrotum. Lambert paused and raised his brows.

"Could you… help me with Jaskier, please?

"Help you do what, my lord?"

"I… I want to fuck him— or him to fuck me. I don't know. I just _want_ him and—" he whimpered, "I want to be good."

"Good for who?"

"For you, of course." Aiden looked at Lambert as if he had grown an extra head, as if the answer was obvious.

"That's what I like to hear." He tapped his thumb on Aiden's hole while he thought it over. He wouldn’t be able to help Aiden _here_. With his Brothers sniffing around it would be more trouble than it was worth, but he wouldn’t tolerate Aiden frustrated and anxious for the rest of the week. That was just asking for problems, especially if the object of Aiden’s desire was stuck here with them.

“When we get back to the city, I’ll help you take him.” He moved his thumb to the tender skin of Aiden’s taint and circled, slowly increasing the pressure as he spoke. “He seems like a canny one, he can tell what you _really_ want, and I don’t trust that you’ll be able to manage him on your own. Even if you planned to mount him and he agreed beforehand, I know you better than that. Now that you’ve felt him on top of you, you’ll show him your belly as soon as your dick gets hard.”

Lambert released his hold and Aiden flattened out with a grateful sigh. His face was red from the compression and having his legs overhead for so long. “Up!” He nudged Aiden’s hip. Aiden stood up but wobbled, still getting his equilibrium back. Lambert caught him around the waist and held him close, smug when Aiden leaned into him a little longer than it took for his heartbeat to settle. He was always surprised by his charge, who sought out pain again and again, for no reason other than that he enjoyed pushing himself. He bravely took whatever anyone would give him, whether or not he was allowed the benefit of release. He had thought Aiden was a madman in the beginning for choosing to hurt when he could have led a life of luxury, for trusting the people who hurt him instead of fearing them. Now he had a deep well of respect for his ward, who was the only noble worth the title, as far as Lambert was concerned. He was strong and powerful in his own way, and he was the best part of Lambert’s life.

He turned them and walked to the sideboard, forcing Aiden to walk backwards hobbled inside the circle of Lambert’s arms. Lambert pressed Aiden between himself and the wood, working around his body to pour a glass of water. He brought the drink around for Aiden and handed it over. He decided not to move away, enjoying having Aiden’s front pressed fully along his. Aiden handled it with his usual poise, leaning back over the cabinet while he drank it down in one go. His abdominal muscles trembled under the strain and Lambert felt it deep in his own body.

“Nicely done.”

“Thank you, Lambert.” He looked utterly composed and content, as though satisfying Lambert’s whims was the purpose of his existence.

Lambert backed up onto the bed, keeping his hold on Aiden, letting him manage crawling over the mattress without using his arms. He had no problems, trusting Lambert not to let him fall. Once Lambert was against the headboard, he let go. The fingers of one hand went into Aiden’s mouth to stroke his cool, wet tongue. The other hand massaged the blood-hot skin of Aiden’s ass while he spoke.

“There are three conditions to earn my help. First, you must get permission from your uncle to borrow his plaything for the evening.” Lambert drew his hand from Aiden’s mouth and put the tip of his first finger into Aiden’s hole, circling inside the tight grip. He rocked only once against Lambert before forcing himself still. “Very polite, my lord. You may hold onto my shirt, but don’t rip it.” He knew Aiden never would, but it was nice to give an easy order, sometimes. He liked the feeling of knuckles pressing into his ribs.

“Second, he can only use his mouth and hands this time. The same rule applies to you.” He slipped another fingertip in beside the other, nestling them just to the first knuckle, continuing to move gently. Aiden was tense, trying not to squirm, and his inner walls gripped tightly. Lambert soothed him, deepening the pressure of his other hand into the muscles of Aiden’s ass and the crease inside of his thigh until the tightness subsided a bit.

“Third, since I can’t be in there with you tonight,” because he wasn’t _at all_ interested in hearing Geralt’s opinion on the matter, “we need to practice, you and me.” Aiden jerked his head away from Lambert’s chest to stare at him. “I want to make sure you can be good. I know you don’t want a repeat of this morning.” Aiden shook his head dutifully. The smell of his arousal was thick around them and Lambert felt the effects in his own body. He slipped his third fingertip inside Aiden, bundled tightly against the others. He longed to hold them flat, or to scissor them apart and let Aiden feel the aching burn, but he resisted. All in good time. “Anything you want him to do, I’ll do to you. Anything you want to do to him, you’ll do to me.” Aiden licked his lips and Lambert couldn’t resist using both hands to press them more tightly together. He rolled his hips, loving the feeling of his cock grinding into Aiden’s. Aiden was moaning, pinned on Lambert’s fingers, letting himself be stretched wider as Lambert bucked upward. “That way you’ll know it’s alright, that you’re safe.” Aiden let out a shuddering breath and Lambert knew the answer before he asked, but he asked anyway.

“Do you agree to the terms, my lord?”

Aiden arched up, and sealed the deal with a kiss.

***

It had been nice, having a few pleasant weeks at the villa to round out the summer. But as always, Lambert brought trouble.

Now Geralt was following Jaskier to Aiden’s chambers, walking as slowly as he could manage without Jaskier catching on, having a heated argument in whispers.

“I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

“What about me fucking Aiden is so unbelievable?”

Geralt floundered for a moment, finally seizing on an argument. “What about _Charles_?”

“What _about_ Charles? He agreed! What does it matter to you who I fuck, anyway? I thought you got past”—he waved his hand vaguely—“all that.”

“He’s Lambert’s ward.”

“And Charles is Eskel’s.” Jaskier rounded on him with a piercing look. “Are you _jealous_?”

“No! I’m not—”

“Perfect. I’m glad it won’t be a problem.” Jaskier swanned off down the hall, nose in the air.

Geralt distracted himself from his frustration by eavesdropping on Lambert. “Remember what we talked about, my lord. And you better not make me stand out here all night!” There was the sound of a sharp slap and Aiden laughing before the door closed. By the time they rounded the corner, Lambert was standing outside the door with his typical surly frown.

“Hello, Lambert. My word, don’t you look fetching this evening? Are those new daggers or are you just happy to see me?”

“Go fuck yourself.” Lambert rolled his eyes.

“Gladly. I’ll be sure to do it in _your_ bed.” Lambert rounded on Jaskier with murder in his eyes but before Geralt could intervene, Jaskier shut the door to Aiden’s room directly in Lambert’s face.

“If he wasn’t your whore, I’d kill him for that.” Lambert was breathing heavily and the color was high in his cheeks.

“He’s not _my_ — and don’t call him a _whore_ , Lambert. Show some fucking respect.”

Lambert snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of respect... ‘my lord’? I thought you’d sooner eat Vesemir’s hat than bow and scrape to a nobleman.”

“I’d gladly eat that hat if I could figure out where he hid it. He found somewhere new after the last time he caught me wearing it.” He paused and looked oddly contemplative. A thoughtful Lambert was a dangerous thing. “I like it. It reminds him that even though he’s a noble, he’s still my bitch. Wealth and titles mean nothing when he has to do what I tell him.”

It took Geralt a moment to realize Lambert was talking about Aiden. “He listens when you tell him to do things?” Simply stunning.

“Yours doesn’t? Bah, you’ve always been too soft. Just give him a swat now and then, he’ll sharpen up.” Lambert spoke as if Geralt were a particularly stupid child. It was infuriating.

“I tied him up once when he wouldn’t quit playing the lute.” Geralt knew how to manage spirited young men just as well as anyone, and certainly better than _Lambert_.

“There you go. Those whores are a fucking handful, but they do have some good tricks up their— What? What’s wrong with you?” Lambert cocked his head and sniffed a little, checking the area for threats.

Geralt’s heart was pounding. “Lambert,” he spoke softly, quiet enough a human might not hear it at all, “is tying someone up a _whore’s trick_?” Jaskier hadn’t said anything, but right after Geralt tied him up...

“Yeah, so’s spanking— What’s the—” Lambert’s eyes lit up with unholy glee. “You didn’t _know_? You _didn’t know_?!” Geralt snapped arms around Lambert in a garrotter’s hold and covered Lambert’s mouth with both hands before he could laugh loud enough to draw attention.

Turnabout was fair play. “How did _you_ know? Spend much time with _whores_ , Lambert?”

Lambert regained control of himself and elbowed Geralt away. “Not me, him.” He nodded to Aiden’s door. “He gets all cagey if he doesn’t get hit and fucked regularly, preferably at the same time.”

“He pays to get hit?”

“Not anymore. He used to, but they were doing it all wrong. Safer to just do it myself.”

“You can’t beat your ward, Lambert!”

“Why not? He likes it. He _needs_ it. And they call those Mandrake House whores experts but they can’t tell when he’s done, not like I can.”

Geralt wants to ask Jaskier about all this later. Maybe Lambert just misunderstood? But talking to Jaskier would mean acknowledging he knew about the spanking and the tying-up things. Maybe Lambert was better. At least they were in similar circumstances.

“At Mandrake House… they get off on hitting people?”

“Yeah,” Lambert shrugs. “They’re all dedicated to Kushiel, too, not just Naamah. You know, ‘Mighty Kushiel of rod and weal.’ The Valerians are the opposite; they’d rather get bound or hit. That’s where he’d be,” Lambert tipped his head towards the door to indicate Aiden, “if he hadn’t been born with a silver spoon up his ass.”

Geralt shook his head. “I had no idea.”

“I think the other ones like it sometimes, just none so much as the whores from Mandrake and Valerian. Yours sure seemed to enjoy putting a hurt on Aiden earlier.” He let out a low whistle and grinned. Geralt let it slide, since Lambert likely considered it a compliment.

Their conversation waned as the noises of pleasure in the room became more obvious. Geralt shifted uncomfortably. He could smell a hint of Lambert’s arousal and was heartened to see the man’s prick wasn’t totally uninterested. Eskel had made Geralt feel like a lecher for getting aroused at the sounds of Jaskier’s Service.

“How do you stand it?”

“I—” Aiden’s cries suddenly took on a new tone, not hurt, but urgent, and Lambert looked over his shoulder at the door intensely. Aiden broke off, they could hear him murmuring ‘ _gently, gently_ ’ and Lambert looked away with a little smile that he quickly hid. “How do I stand what? Listening to him fuck his way through Terre d’Ange?”

Geralt adjusted himself in his trousers and nodded.

Lambert shrugged, a bit of a flush on his neck. “Fuck my fist before and after, and try not to listen to him during.”

***

It was upsetting, smelling Aiden all over Jaskier. Why had they not cleaned up after? Within a few heartbeats of the two men reaching their final peaks, Lambert was standing in front of the closed door and only a moment after that, Aiden was pulling it open. Lambert went in, Jaskier came out, and they headed back toward their own room.

Geralt couldn’t help but overhear Lambert’s words.

“All’s well, my lord?”

“I didn’t—” Lambert shushed him, likely aware of Geralt’s superior ears, and this time Aiden spoke more quietly, “You can check.”

Geralt wasn’t sure what Lambert would need to check, but he let the conversation go. He preferred to focus on his own ward. Jaskier was different than he usually was after Charles. He was soft and pliant, but seemed a little lost in his mind. 

“Would you like a bath?”

“Hm? Oh…” Jaskier looked down at his hands. “Yes, I suppose so.”

Geralt led Jaskier to stand beside the tub and opened the tap. Jaskier took off his robe and the smell of Aiden intensified. Worse, now he noticed the distinct smell of _Lambert_. He was surprised the room was already so steeped in his scent after only a day, but if anyone could manage it, it would be Lambert. Definitely time for Jaskier to get in the bath. Geralt added a little more scented oil than he would normally prefer.

Jaskier stepped into the tub and Geralt was grateful they had gotten around to practicing bathing techniques; Jaskier seemed sleepy enough to skimp on hygiene and Geralt needed him to be scrupulously clean after the evening’s events. He had Jaskier dunk underwater while he removed his own shirt and then proceeded to wash Jaskier’s hair. When his hair was done, he did an abbreviated version of the full-body cleanse Jaskier had taught him and left the more intimate parts for Jaskier to manage alone.

Jaskier took the cloth from him and did a perfunctory wash. Despite his langor, he noticed Geralt noticing and smiled. “Don’t worry, he left me cleaner than I started down there.”

Geralt wasn’t interested in knowing what that implied.

“Was everything… um… normal?” This change in Jaskier’s mood combined with Lambert’s conversation had him unsettled.

“Normal?” Jaskier turned to look at him and let out a gusty sigh, adding to Geralt’s displeasure. “Everything was fine, my dear. He took good care of me. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” He hauled himself out of the bath and grabbed a towel.

As soon as he was dry, Geralt handed Jaskier the little dish of salt for cleaning his teeth. He distinctly did not enjoy the smell of Aiden’s seed on Jaskier’s breath. Jaskier took the dish with a smirk and pointedly did not ask why Geralt was crushing mint leaves into a glass of water.

Once they were in their separate beds, under the cover of muted candlelight, Geralt had the courage to ask, “Do some people really dedicate themselves to Naamah _and_ Kushiel?”

Jaskier rolled over to face Geralt, though he probably couldn’t see him in the low light. “Some do, those that feel his bronze touch when they mix pleasure and pain. But you don’t have to be a patron of Kushiel to enjoy his arts.”

“Hm.”

“The stories say his penitents loved him so dearly they refused absolution for their sins, preferring to stay with him and receive punishment for all eternity. That’s a pretty good endorsement, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure I do. Pain doesn’t feel _good_ , that’s why it’s pain.”

“Think about… hmm… don’t you ache after you’ve trained all day? Or when you’ve been knocked around by a monster? But it’s a good ache. It means you worked hard.” He paused and hummed thoughtfully again. “Perhaps you lean toward the opposite side of the coin… you certainly do seem to enjoy making _my_ life painful.” Geralt could hear the smile in his voice but his words tugged at Geralt’s gut like a fish hook. “I like a bit of everything, of course. It’s not always one or the other.” Even talking about it in the abstract added a trace of lust to Jaskier’s scent.

“Hm.”

Jaskier groaned around a huge yawn, sending a puff of minty breath toward Geralt's side of the room. "We can talk more about it tomorrow if you like. G'night."

Geralt pinched his own inner thigh until he couldn't bear it any longer. It didn't seem like a particularly enjoyable way to spend his free time. Upon reflection, he grudgingly acknowledged that the concept of giving _Jaskier_ a hard pinch when he was being particularly irksome did hold some appeal.

That night he dreamed of bronze wings and leather straps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Aiden isn't a witcher, it just didn't work out that way.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry that the side characters are having a scalding hot scene while main pair fumbles around like idiots.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At summer's end, they return to the city.

Leaving the villa was bittersweet. Jaskier missed the city, missed his friends and his usual patrons, but it was nice in its own way to be on the coast with Geralt, to see Eskel every morning, to tease Lambert and Aiden for being late risers if they managed to show up at all. The villa seemed to be in its own bubble away from the rest of the world… but Jaskier was a man of the people, and his audience needed him. It was time to return to the City of Elua.

While the trip to the villa had been dreary—nothing but stilted one-sided conversation with Geralt and miserable trail rations—the trip home was a delight. Aiden planned to travel alongside Charles’ retinue and had extended an invitation for Jaskier to join them.

Along the way he and Aiden flirted outrageously, enjoying it more for sport than with intent. They playfully teased the three Cassilines for fully gearing up each day despite the road being well-traveled and far from known monster lairs. Jaskier managed to get a story or two from each of them and he carefully took notes for future songs. They eschewed their tents and slept in bedrolls under the stars, enjoying every bit of warmth from the waning summer. He noticed Lambert dragged Aiden into the safe circle of his embrace each night and did not mention it to Geralt lest he develop the same overprotective streak. It was quite sweet, despite being completely unnecessary.

Their journey ended too soon and their caravan broke apart as they entered the city gates. Kisses were exchanged as well as promises to meet again, then Geralt and Jaskier turned toward Night’s Doorstep.

By the time they returned to his lodging house, Jaskier was well and truly exhausted. They had been stopped and greeted by innumerable acquaintances, delighted to see him after the long summer away. He had received requests to play at a few events and had several patrons vying to secure the first _assignation_ upon his arrival. It was all quite charming, but a bit overwhelming after the tranquility of Eisande. Jaskier traded a few coins to the housemistress for his messages and some gossip, then followed Geralt upstairs.

His room looked rather vacant and shabby with most of his personal effects still in crates to be delivered the next day. He threw the stack of mail down on his table and looked around as if surveying the room for the first time.

“I daresay we will need to move, my dear.”

“Charles spoiled you. We should have asked for servants’ quarters.”

“I would have allowed no such thing, and you know it. I only mean that there isn’t space here for the two of us. There’s nowhere to put another bed and you deserve better than to sleep on a _chaise longue_ the rest of your days.”

Jaskier watched as Geralt assessed the space, his eyes snagging on Jaskier’s bed, then tearing away.

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“So have I, but why choose to do so?” Jaskier rifled through his mail and handed a stack of envelopes to Geralt. “From my father. Burn those. No offense, but I am not interested in any more gifts from his hand.” He gave Geralt a wry smile to take away the sting of his comment. Jaskier admired the flames licking up Geralt’s fingers as the other man moved toward the fireplace. He would never tire of witnessing his Cassiline’s control over the elements, particularly over fire. Just before Geralt touched the parchment, a memory struck Jaskier.

“Wait!”

Geralt snuffed out the flame inside his fist, raising a brow at Jaskier.

“Your wages. My father is responsible for payment. There should be letters of credit we can take to a banking house.”

Geralt blinked. “I forgot. Monster hunts were paid for by contract. The monastery took care of everything before that.” He turned to Jaskier, concerned. “In the spring, before we left with Charles...”

“Don’t worry about all that. My _assignations_ pay well and despite my best efforts some of my father’s bookkeeping lessons took root. You haven’t left me destitute.” Geralt still looked troubled and Jaskier didn’t want to dwell on the financial aspect of their relationship any longer. Was this how patrons felt? He shook himself and continued, “I will consider it settled as long as your account is kept by Bryony House’s bank. My father will be deeply disgusted to know part of his wealth is in the hands of Servants of Naamah.”

“Deal.” Geralt began to rip open the envelopes and Jaskier flopped down on his bare mattress, unwilling to bother with finding sheets just yet. He listened to the sound of rustling paper and settled into a light doze.

“Jaskier?” That wasn’t a normal tone for Geralt. Jaskier dragged himself upright, groggy from the brief nap.

“Hmm?” He caught sight of the letter in Geralt’s hand. “Oh, don’t wake me to read snide remarks from my father. Spare me your unbounded cruelty!” He collapsed back to the bed. Geralt came and sprawled next to him, close enough that their bodies brushed together. Jaskier opened his eyes to find Geralt smiling in a very lovely manner, certainly not how one would smile if they were about to torment a friend with familial scorn.

“I think it might be important.”

“Alright, but spare me his commentary. Just the facts, please.”

“‘ _Julian… enclosed are your guard’s wages for the period of_ …’” he trailed off and then continued further down, “‘ _I’m sure you are well-tended in his care…_ ’”

Jaskier glared. “ _Just_ the facts, Geralt.”

“‘ _I have taken the liberty of ordering the townhouse readied… lodgings which befit the heir of Lettenhove… expect your occupancy within the fortnight…_ ’ Hm. It’s dated just before we left. Certainly missed that deadline.” Geralt nudged him gently.

“I wish we had burned it. We still could. What if I see more patrons and pay your wages myself?” Geralt did not look enthused at the prospect. Jaskier sighed. “I hate that townhouse. It’s so stuffy and far from everything and… filled with nothing but bad memories.” He rubbed his fists into his eyes and groaned.

Geralt set aside the letter and laid down next to Jaskier, giving him time to tease out his feelings.

“How does he keep doing it? It’s like he’s a _djinn_ , when he grants me my heart’s desire but twists and corrupts it beyond repair.”

“A Cassiline was your heart’s desire?” Of course Geralt wouldn’t let a comment like that pass by unchallenged.

“Certainly not. Despite his distaste for my calling, and for me in general, my father is quite astute. He knows I’m weak for beautiful creations,” he ran his eyes down the line of Geralt’s jaw, “and I’m deeply conceited; such untouchable, incorruptible perfection as yours is a blade custom-forged to rend the flesh of my soul.”

He rolled away from Geralt and off the bed, changing the subject before Geralt could respond. “We’re still dressed. I suppose there’s no harm in stopping by for a visit.” Jaskier shook his head, knowing he was already caught in the spider’s web. Fighting only drew the spider to you more swiftly. “It will certainly be large enough for the two of us to live comfortably and having a cook will be nice… If the secret passages are still open it’ll be a quick trip to Bryony from there.”

“Secret passages?”

Jaskier adopted the deep voice of a mystic seer, “You have much to learn before you will be granted entrance to the inner sanctum.” He winked and Geralt gave him a good-natured shove. “The only good thing about the townhouse was how it brought me to Naamah. My father never deduced how I kept sneaking out and I hope it chafes him until the end.”

***

The townhouse was largely unchanged since Jaskier’s last forced occupancy. Though rarely inhabited, the small gardens were immaculate, the rooms tidy and free of dust. Certain doors were pulled firmly shut without a glance inside but Jaskier was not in the mood to explain his reasons. The household attendants, though all new faces, were pleasant and helpful. Most importantly, Geralt had eyed the library and the bathing chamber with interest that did not escape Jaskier’s notice.

It seemed his father had outwitted him once again. There was no good reason not to live there, other than Jaskier’s distaste for it. In a stroke of good fortune, the doorway to the secret passage was jammed but not blocked, so Geralt’s strength was enough to get them by. They scuttled through the tight entryway, Jaskier managing it in a breathless rush, then trekked the length of the surprisingly large smugglers’ tunnel and emerged under a bridge right outside Night’s Doorstep. From there, it was a short jaunt to the Bryony House’s bank. Once Geralt’s account was established—and many off-color remarks made about the impropriety of a Cassiline using the courtesans’ bank—they detoured to stop off at the porter station to have their baggage routed to the townhouse instead of Jaskier’s flat.

Errands done, they dragged themselves home. The momentum of running around town had kept them going for a time, but they had reached their limit. Jaskier groaned when he spotted a small red envelope on the floor. It must have been slipped under the door while they were out.

“What now?” Instead of setting it aside, he reflexively tore it open. He skimmed the message and smirked. “He doesn’t waste any time, does he?”

Geralt hummed his disinterest.

Jaskier read aloud, “‘ _Dearest Jaskier, I pray you will grant me the blessing of your presence for myself and an associate immediately upon your return to Naamah’s Service. Our prior engagement only served to whet my already-keen appetite. Indulge my eagerness once more, and I vow it will be worth your while. With bated breath, Aiden de Parnasse_ ’”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier accepts Aiden's invitation.

They had gone early to the rented room at Eglantine house and left a leather blindfold and a note stating simply, ‘put this on.’ Aiden lit a cone of incense to fill the air with smoky perfume, then they retreated to the room’s antechamber to wait. Soon after, Lambert heard Jaskier strip down and kneel on a small cushion in the center of the room. He stroked over Aiden once more, his lips, his chest, his cock, then stepped back. Aiden opened the door and slipped into the room.

Geralt’s whore—Jaskier—angled to the door as Aiden approached.

“Jaskier! It has been too long already since I have enjoyed your company.” He ran his hand up Jaskier’s cheek and checked the tightness of the blindfold, ensuring it was safe for Lambert to enter.

“It’s your own fault for bridling our passions last time. I could tell you were denying yourself. I would gladly have given you what you sought…” Jaskier kept turning and tilting his head, trying to track Lambert’s quiet steps around the room.

“I promised my friend I would wait, and I would never break a vow to him.”

“A close friend indeed. What shall I call you, sir?” Heat surged through Lambert’s belly and his boot scuffed against the floor. He reminded himself that though the pleasure chambers were built to insulate sound, Geralt was just outside the door. Silence was essential. He stared at Aiden, who clearly read the heat in his gaze.

“‘Sir’ will suit him nicely.”

Jaskier seemed to sense Lambert’s hand on the reins and played into it. He moved his arms off his thighs to clasp behind his back and leaned around Aiden’s legs to ask him directly, “How may I best please you, Sir?” Lambert’s hands clenched into fists. He might enjoy using this pretty toy for his own desires, but tonight was for Aiden’s benefit and nothing was more important than that.

“Sir enjoys his anonymity. I will be his voice.” Jaskier nodded, unruffled by the odd request. Lambert could only imagine the extravagant fantasies he had entertained in the past, if one party’s complete silence was not even worth remarking on.

Lambert drew close behind Jaskier and stroked a hand up the man’s neck and through his hair, careful not to dislodge the blindfold’s straps. Jaskier leaned back into his touch and Lambert idly traced the marque’s whorls while Aiden came forward and straddled Jaskier’s legs. Lambert pushed Jaskier forward and watched him nuzzle into Aiden’s groin, thoroughly and unabashedly scenting him. Lambert would have done the same, if he could. He settled for a few deep breaths, hunting for the scent of Aiden’s lust under the strong incense.

Jaskier continued to press his face against Aiden’s trousers, rubbing his cheeks across his thickening prick, opening his mouth to blow heat over the head, gently drawing his teeth along the length. Aiden braced himself on Lambert’s hips, rather than Jaskier’s head. His eyes were locked on Lambert’s face, always there even if Lambert looked away.

Lambert nudged Jaskier’s head forward and he took the cue well, using teeth and tongue to unfasten Aiden’s trousers and tug them loose enough to fall down. Aiden stepped out and kicked them away, bare underneath. Jaskier leaned in, lavishing attention on every part of Aiden within reach. Lambert watched, hypnotized, as he nibbled up and down Aiden’s thighs, licked swirling patterns over his hips and blew cold air that made Aiden shiver. He sucked gently at the underside of Aiden’s cock, working slowly upward and back, coaxing his cock into aching hardness, not reaching the tip until there was a pearly bead of slick waiting for him.

He tenderly pressed a kiss to the delicate skin under the crown and then pulled away, tilting his head up as if to show Lambert. His lips were wet with saliva, parted slightly to extend his tongue, just a little. It was an invitation, not a demand, and Lambert was happy to take him up on the offer.

He held Jaskier by the scruff of the neck and used a finger to angle Aiden’s prick down to Jaskier’s tongue, letting him savor the taste and gently tease into Aiden’s slit. Aiden’s hands flexed hard where they gripped Lambert and he made a little noise that burned through Lambert’s already-limited patience. Lambert gestured for Aiden to remove his shirt and slid his thumb between Jaskier’s lips, biting the inside of his own cheek to restrain a moan. _Fuck_ , that was a sweet mouth. Jaskier sucked and teased with more finesse than Lambert would have considered possible. He was quickly learning how Naamah’s Servants earned their extravagant price.

He admired the naked body before him and stroked his wet thumb over Aiden’s nipples, borrowing a trick and blowing cool air over them. Aiden shuddered and his cock bobbed forward, bumping Jaskier’s lower lip. Lambert twisted his nipple sharply, displeased that Aiden had stolen a touch instead of waiting to receive it.

Aiden looked askance, embarrassed and desperately hard. If he couldn’t manage to control himself right now, Lambert wouldn’t set him up to fail. He gripped Aiden’s chin roughly to get his attention and turned him to face forward again. He held out a hand palm-down towards Jaskier and then pointed to himself firmly. Aiden’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Sir wants me to use your mouth, Jaskier. He will be in control, but you may move your tongue and throat as you see fit.” Jaskier licked his lips and Lambert could see his prick was red and stiff, dripping onto the knee cushion.

“What is your _signale_?”

“Wolf.” Probably Geralt’s idea. Lambert rolled his eyes. How did the story go? Were they supposed to believe him the first time the boy cried wolf?

“Understood. If you cannot speak, touch Sir’s leg and he will release you.”

Jaskier pulled his arms behind himself more tightly. “I am ready, Sir.”

Lambert assessed their positions with a critical eye. He pulled Aiden a little closer and shrugged his shoulders to indicate where Aiden should brace. Then he settled himself, stepping one leg forward for power and balance. He wrapped a hand around Jaskier’s jaw, holding it open and letting his fingers rest lightly on his pulse point; he was less attuned to Jaskier and unwilling to miss a warning sign while focusing on Aiden. His other hand held Aiden’s hip steady. A deep breath pulled incense and the heady smell of their combined arousal deep inside of him. He would allow Aiden the pleasure of Jaskier’s body, but Lambert would lead the dance.

His thumb stroked over Jaskier’s lip, and the man went completely boneless, sagging into Lambert’s hold. Just a tool to be used, a hole to be filled. Lambert held Jaskier’s head firmly against himself and bucked his hips forward. Aiden gasped and clung to Lambert’s shoulders, knees buckling as his prick was engulfed in wet heat. He corrected himself and Lambert gave him a little squeeze on the hip. Confident they were arranged to his advantage, he began to put them through their paces.

Lambert rolled his hips forward, easing a little deeper every time, curious how far Jaskier could take it. When it seemed Aiden was growing comfortable, Lambert withdrew, lavishing attention on the head with quick, delicate movements. He heard the strain in Aiden’s voice that indicated the concentrated attention was becoming too much, so he stayed a few moments more, feeling the muscles of Jaskier’s mouth moving to enhance the sensations. Once Aiden was gasping out little cries in time with the thrusts, Lambert lunged forward, making Jaskier take Aiden’s cock to the hilt. He could feel Aiden’s cock straining Jaskier’s throat and he couldn’t resist rutting against Jaskier, enjoying the friction on his cock almost as much as he enjoyed the look on Aiden’s face when tight muscles fluttered around him. Aiden tried to pull away, tense with pleasure. Jaskier was holding his breath calmly so Lambert held Aiden steady, forcing him to endure for as long as Jaskier’s impressive lung capacity could.

Finally, he relented, easing Aiden down from the brink. That was not the last time. He pushed Aiden’s control and Jaskier’s stamina to the edge time and again, closing his eyes to better hear them. Aiden made it easy. He was open with his pleasure, groaning and gasping and whispering ‘ _thank you, Sir._ ’ Lambert could feel the tension and hear when the rapid tenor of his body suddenly plummeted towards orgasm—his heart pumping more slowly but _hard_ and his breath deepening just before breaking through—and Lambert would immediately draw away. Aiden would cry out and beg for more, or for mercy. No power on earth could be sweeter than this.

Only when Lambert was starting to pull at his own leash did he cease toying with them, and he had much more endurance than a human. Jaskier’s chin was slick and glistening, his lips were red. He still hung loosely in Lambert’s hold, perfectly compliant. Aiden had collapsed forward onto Lambert’s shoulder, mouthing and licking and moaning against his neck. Lambert gently leaned away, trying to meet Aiden’s glassy eyes. He gave Aiden’s hip a little shake, and when that didn’t work pinched his ass hard enough to rouse him from his trance. Once he could trust Aiden on his own two feet, Lambert jerked his head towards the bed. Aiden nodded and took a few breaths to center himself. Lambert knew it would be hard for Aiden to speak with authority when he was in Lambert’s thrall, but Lambert’s orders were more important than momentary discomfort.

“Jaskier.” The man hardly stirred. Lambert brushed over Jaskier’s cheek, trying to rouse him while Aiden tried again. “Jaskier, you did well— very well. Sir is pleased.”

Jaskier hummed, leaning his head into Lambert’s palm.

“Sir wants you on the bed now.” Lambert nodded and moved both his hands to Jaskier’s shoulders. “We’ll take it slow.”

Aiden’s cock was hard and glistening, but he made no move to ease it as Lambert lifted Jaskier to his feet and Aiden rubbed down Jaskier’s calves and checked the circulation in his feet. Standing brought a bit of life back into Jaskier and Lambert was able to step away to shed his clothes. He carefully wrapped his daggers and swords in his tunic so they would not clatter against the floor.

By the time he returned, Aiden had given Jaskier a few sips of water and had wiped his face, carefully dabbing tears away under the edge of the blindfold. Jaskier’s erection had flagged a bit while Lambert moved through him, but Aiden was pulling him off with firm sure strokes that had Jaskier panting. Aiden was thorough, preparing for whatever Lambert threw his way. Lambert couldn’t resist smiling at Aiden, wishing he could tell him how good he was, how appreciated. Aiden’s answering smile said he already knew.

Lambert got comfortable on the bed propped up on a mountain of pillows and beckoned them over.

“Sir says you’re not getting off _that_ easy.”

Jaskier laughed, still dazed and loose. “I certainly hope not. I haven’t _done_ anything, yet.”

Aiden guided him to the bed and let him crawl up, following close behind. Jaskier reached out, seeking Lambert’s body and dropping down to try to mouth at his cock. Lambert pulled him in, adjusting him easily until his back was against Lambert’s chest, legs braced wide outside Lambert’s thick thighs. Jaskier put up a token resistance, growling and tugging, but soon gave in with a monumental sigh. Jaskier’s hands roamed over as much of Lambert as he could reach, curiously mapping the terrain of a scar before Lambert pulled his hands away and pressed them to Aiden’s chest instead. No normal man had scars like him, and they couldn’t risk Jaskier noticing.

Jaskier yanked away and reached for his own prick instead, bucking and arching his back to rub against Lambert with exaggerated pleasure.

“ _Fuck_ , Sir, pl- _ease_ I need it so much!” Lambert rolled his eyes. He could hear the pout on Jaskier’s face and gripped his hips hard to still his movements. “Please will you let me fuck Aiden? I’ll do it so well for you, he could ride me right here in your lap.”

Aiden choked and nearly dropped the bottle of oil he held. Jaskier realized Aiden was the weak link and he switched tactics, exploiting the crack in his clients’ authority to lift his leg back over Lambert’s. Jaskier quickly wrapped a strong leg around Aiden to pull him close. Fumbling only slightly due to the blindfold, he got one hand on Aiden’s ass and one in his hair, tugging him down to sprawl over both of them.

“Tell him, Aiden, tell Sir how much you want it.” He licked over Aiden’s neck and cheek, panting roughly. “I remember how sweet you were, under me with your face in the dirt.” He bit Aiden’s ear and tugged, trying to steal control.

Lambert hadn’t realized how devious a bored whore could be. He wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s neck, more as a statement than to choke him, and twined his legs around Jaskier’s again. This time his own legs were on the outside and he bent his knees to hold Jaskier’s legs tightly with his calves. He was slippery as an eel but Lambert had him well-pinned now. Jaskier’s hands were still free and he had let go of Aiden’s hair in favor of seeking Aiden’s cock. The hand that had grabbed Aiden’s ass was out of eyesight, but from his flexing arm muscles, Lambert did _not_ like the possibilities.

“I’ll make it so good for you, Aiden. I know just what you need—” Lambert pressed harder, cutting him off. He had not worked _this hard_ to get Aiden to take control, only to have it go to awry because this bossy little bitch stepped out of line.

Lambert snapped his fingers and shoved Aiden’s shoulder back. Once he got Aiden’s attention he pointed to himself, then to Aiden, then sharply to Jaskier. Aiden was going to fuck Jaskier, even if he had to pretend to be Lambert to do it. He could see Aiden squaring himself off, trying to regain some of the assertiveness he had earlier. He slicked up one hand and was tentatively moving between Jaskier’s legs. Lambert tugged Aiden’s other arm and pointed to Jaskier’s neck. As Aiden took hold, Lambert lashed out to grab Jaskier’s hands and hold them overhead.

“I don’t know why you’re so _grouchy_ , Sir. You didn’t _say_ you wanted him to fuck me.” Aiden wasn’t pressing hard enough to keep him quiet and Jaskier’s voice rasped around the obstruction, trying to undermine Lambert’s authority. “If you aren’t going to do anything fun with your mouth, you might as well—” Something _fun_? Lambert saw red. He bit down hard on the top of Jaskier’s shoulder, cutting him off with a shriek. Aiden took advantage of the distraction and slid his fingers in to prepare him.

“Yes, _yes_ , thank you, Sir!” It sounded a little forced, but it was probably necessary to keep Geralt from barging in. Lambert licked over the bite, appreciative. Jaskier was squirming and whimpering, trying to get friction or trying to get Aiden deeper, Lambert couldn’t tell, but the result was the same: Lambert’s prick slid across Jaskier’s lower back, slick with sweat and his own wetness, painfully hard. He caught Aiden’s attention and nodded for him to move on, confident that if this whore could do one thing, it would be to get fucked at a moment’s notice.

Aiden let go of Jaskier’s neck to slick oil over his own cock and sheathed himself in one long push.

“Please, please, fuck me. Sir, please tell him to, I _need_ it, please-please-please, Sir.” Lambert was here for Aiden, not to satisfy the demands of this greedy minx. He shook his head and Aiden held Jaskier’s hips tightly as he slowly drew out. His brow was furrowed with frustration but Lambert trusted he wouldn’t act out. He mouthed ‘good’ at Aiden, who arched back and sighed in pleasure, eyelashes fluttering. Then he regained his focus and drove forward again, slow and steady as the tide.

Jaskier begged and pleaded, but only once he had trailed off into desperate, wordless whimpers did Lambert signal for Aiden to take the lead. Aiden rammed forward, forcing a cry from Jaskier’s lips and putting delicious, agonizing pressure on Lambert’s cock. He was relentless and would have forced Jaskier up the bed if Lambert hadn't kept his legs pinned.

Lambert was pleased to hear Jaskier change his tune, begging now for _Aiden_ to keep fucking him, to do it harder. He had known Aiden could harness his calm demeanor to outplay a weak little thing like Jaskier, and Aiden had succeeded. He looked up at Aiden and their eyes met, sending a bolt of heat through Lambert. He rolled his hips, getting friction from the body above him, and he wished desperately that he could speak. He would tell Aiden how proud he was, how much he loved seeing Aiden unraveling an impossible task and conquering anything Lambert set in front of him.

Aiden must have seen something in his face because he drew away, a sly twist to his mouth. He crossed his palm with oil but when he moved not toward Jaskier’s prick but instead to his entrance, Lambert could only watch, not sure what was happening. He could tell Aiden was doing _something_ , something good, by the increasing pitch of Jaskier’s cries. He worked his arm forcefully for a handful of minutes, and then slapped Jaskier hard on the thigh.

“Up! You know what’s coming for you.” Aiden had command in his voice that thrilled Lambert to his core. Jaskier squirmed and tried, unsuccessfully, to wiggle himself up Lambert’s body. Lambert dragged him up a bit with his grip on Jaskier’s hands and tried to read the situation. Before he understood Aiden’s plan, a slick hand pulled his prick from underneath Jaskier and pressed it up into the stretched rim of his entrance. Lambert bucked forward instinctively, just breaching that tightness. He found he cared less about the heat of Jaskier’s channel than he did about rubbing the head of his cock over Aiden’s length. Aiden held himself very still, buried to the hilt inside Jaskier. He peeked over at Lambert, enjoying his reaction… and then he nodded, mimicking Lambert’s signal from earlier.

Lambert shoved one of Jaskier’s wrists into his other hand, and secured Jaskier to him with a hand on his belly, digging his fingers into tender skin. Then, Lambert lost control. Pure animal need spurred him on as he thrust deeper alongside Aiden. Jaskier was crying out in desperation but it didn’t matter which one of them he begged for, because they were both the same. Everything was building higher and higher and still there seemed to be no end to it. Until Aiden leaned forward, his mouth barely brushing over Lambert’s, and whispered, “Come for me. _Now_.”

An avalanche roared through Lambert. He surged forward, capturing Aiden’s mouth in a bruising kiss and pounding into Jaskier with unstoppable strength. Jaskier was clenching tight around them, sobbing out his pleasure as Lambert and Aiden filled him to overflowing. Hot lines of seed ran across Lambert’s arm and Aiden’s chest. Aiden collapsed forward a little, letting Jaskier rock against his belly, drawing out more pleasure as his body tried in vain to squeeze closed around them.

The outside world trickled back to him slowly. Two bodies, close, breathing steadily; no distress in their sounds or smells; his own body, hot, sweaty, _sticky_ , with a heavy weight atop it. He twitched one of his arms, sensing it was pinned, and some of the pressure drew away. Aiden. He twisted his wrist and stroked Aiden’s torso before he was out of reach. Aiden hummed in response and reached up to Lambert’s other arm. His hand was locked around… wrists. He released them and was rewarded with a brief caress from Aiden. As Aiden sat back, Lambert rubbed and stretched Jaskier’s wrists and fingers. Jaskier sighed and squirmed while Aiden gently wiped him clean. Lambert tried to ease out from under him and Jaskier helpfully flopped onto his front, freeing Lambert and letting Aiden continue cleaning their mess away. Lambert tipped forward, his head on Aiden’s shoulder, waiting to be tended. Once the worst of Lambert’s mess was gone, he was alert enough to take the cloth and return the favor to Aiden.

He leaned over and spotted a loose grin on Jaskier, its twin on Aiden’s face. Lambert knew he had done well. They all had. He gave Jaskier a friendly pat on the rump and heaved himself off the bed to dress.

“Sir is going to leave first, then I’ll help with the blindfold.”

Jaskier grunted and nuzzled deeper into the pillows. Lambert grabbed his belongings then stepped into the antechamber to dress and wait for Aiden. He heard them chattering, making pleasantries and smalltalk that would normally have bored Lambert to death. For once, he was happy to idle in the quiet of his mind, planning their route home and feeling satisfaction etched into his bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure Geralt is well-adjusted enough to handle this.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt learns the identity of Jaskier's secret patron and learns a few things about himself as well.

The walk home was harder than Geralt had anticipated. Instead of trooping down the hall to bed as they had at the villa, he had to guide Jaskier out of Eglantine House, down the hill of Mont Nuit, and partway across the seedy district that surrounded the Night Court to find the bridge which concealed their passage to the townhouse. They had made good time on this route before, but that was in daylight when few hedonists roamed and Jaskier had not been addled by overindulgence.

Now, Jaskier was inattentive and dreamy, moving languorously through the market. He stopped often to stare at shiny baubles or touch soft fabrics displayed in the many merchant carts and more than once Geralt had to double back and pull him away from watching water splash in a fountain. He had a firm grip on Jaskier’s arm now and was moving them briskly past the distractions of Night’s Doorstep.

Geralt himself was feeling a bit overwhelmed with so many people pressed close. The movements and flickering lights danced at the corners of his eyes, pulling at his focus. Worse than the sights were the smells; uncountable people jammed together in the streets and spilling out from every building. Food, perfume, sweat, and sex all melded together into a thick fog that threatened to choke him. Reaching the smugglers’ tunnel was a blessed relief and he tried to be gentle while coaxing Jaskier forward to where the passage widened. 

Jaskier’s nerves about the small space seemed to rouse him a bit. They kept a much quicker pace along the last leg and even the musty smell of the tunnel was preferable to the pungent city streets. Geralt entertained himself lighting and dousing the torches as they passed and Jaskier’s delighted smile was worth the wasteful use of magic.

One last distressing turn around a tight corner and they were able to slide back the trick wall, stepping out into Jaskier’s entirely-too-large closet. Geralt closed the secret door while Jaskier stumbled immediately out into the bedroom, unable to stay in the enclosed area any longer. The closet was nearly as big as the room he and Eskel had shared, but it wasn’t worth mentioning to Jaskier.

“Don’t get comfortable down there. You and I both need a bath.” Geralt felt itchy and drained, certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep with the scents of the Night Court on his skin. He was starting to smell Jaskier now that they were back in their own space and the sweat and sweet oil would prove even more upsetting in close proximity.

Jaskier ineffectively tried to strip his clothes off while laying flat on the floor. He quickly gave up and threw an arm over his face. “Go on without me, brave wolf. I must return to the bosom of Mother Earth.” He pretended to die, dramatically.

Geralt respected his commitment to a joke, but not enough to give up on their bath. He hauled Jaskier into a seated position and quickly stripped his shirt off. “You won’t reach her from here. We’re two floors up.” 

“Leave it.” Jaskier pushed his hands away. “You’re too rough. I know I taught you better than that.” He yawned and started undressing himself, and Geralt left him to it. He removed his own clothes then crossed to the bathing chamber and pumped water into the tub. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the tubs at the villa. Geralt blinked, realizing he might have grown a bit spoiled as well. Odd. He heated the water and stripped, gathering their necessities and fresh towels.

“Jaskier, did you fall asleep?”

“No-no, I’m up!” There was a panicked note in his voice. “Ah, m-maybe we should take separate baths tonight… that way you can stretch out. I’ll go second.” Jaskier stood in a corner of the bedroom which was out of sight from the bath.

Geralt sighed, shaking his head. “What are you—”

He had come through the doorway and caught sight of Jaskier. He was naked, standing in front of the full length mirror. There were several candles lit, casting a golden glow across his body.

His lovely soft skin was marred by bruises.

“What _happened_?” Geralt rushed forward but restrained himself before he laid a hand on Jaskier. “How— I was right outside! _Aiden_ did this? Why didn’t you—” His heart was beating too quickly. He wanted to run back into the city. He would find and kill Aiden, and then hunt down the second man and kill him as well. He would never leave Jaskier’s side again. “Lambert said— he said Aiden didn’t like to hurt—”

Jaskier put both hands on Geralt’s face and the sudden touch silenced him.

“I’m alright.” He didn’t seem to be in distress. He was smiling faintly, breathing normally. His heartbeat was steady. “Sometimes we get carried away. I didn’t notice how rough we were because it didn’t hurt at the time.”

Geralt noticed the careful use of ‘we’ but wasn’t sure he believed the other men left with marks of their own.

“Please don’t kill Aiden. I thought I was finally winning Lambert over and it would put a real damper on our relationship.”

“Where was Lambert, anyway? I never saw him.” He smelled Lambert, vaguely. It was hard to concentrate when he was so busy memorizing the fingerprint bruises on Jaskier’s hips.

“There are two doors to the room. He must have stayed on the patrons’ side.”

Geralt nodded and abruptly swung away from Jaskier to grab his satchel and collect a healing salve for bruises. “Go. Get in the bath. You shouldn’t have tried to keep this from me.”

He saw Jaskier cross the room in his peripheral vision and tried to gather his thoughts. Geralt couldn’t close himself off… Jaskier needed his warmth. But how could he remain gentle when his emotions were raging unchecked, a flood of guilt and shame smothering him. He should have been there to protect Jaskier. He _had_ been there to protect Jaskier. Yet here was his ward, battered and bruised like he’d picked a fight in every tavern between here and Eglantine House.

He heard water splash. Jaskier needed him, that was a certainty. Everything else would have to wait. Focus only on Jaskier and get him ready for bed. That was something he could do.

He took a deep breath, thinking himself ready. Then he turned and his eyes locked onto a sliver of red along Jaskier’s neckline. He was alongside the tub and hauling Jaskier up before his bottom touched the water.

“Geralt! You’re going to pull my arm off!” He couldn’t force himself to loosen his grip on Jaskier’s arm. The fingers of his other hand brushed lightly across the scarlet indents of what was obviously, unmistakably, incomprehensibly, a bite wound. He traced around it again, and his hand was slapped away.

“Ow! So it’s okay for me to hurt as long as you do the hurting?”

He felt like he was outside of his body, a silent observer as he drew Jaskier closer and sniffed over the bite mark then his fingers, going through the motions of assessing a victim to determine the creature he needed to hunt. There was a woody herbaceous scent all over him, obscuring the other person’s saliva.

“Are you _smelling_ me? Let go.” Jaskier tugged and Geralt released him.

“Who was the other man?” The bruises were large and the bite was on his back, making it unlikely to be a woman.

“I don’t know. Aiden said I should only call him ‘Sir,’” the word rippled through Geralt unpleasantly, “and he never spoke. Don’t cause any trouble. I’d be happy to serve them again.”

Geralt growled, hackles raising at the thought of Jaskier returning to someone who put marks on him.

“Settle down or go away. A bath is supposed to be soothing.” He flicked water at Geralt’s face, breaking his concentration. 

“I need a different ointment for the broken skin. Mouths are filthy.”

“Mine sure is.” Jaskier laughed at his own joke and Geralt pretended not to hear.

He returned with a second jar and climbed into the tub, taking the washcloth from Jaskier. Helping him bathe would make it easy for Geralt to inventory the marks. It would please Jaskier as well, which suited him nicely. The bruises had only begun to darken, he would surely be a patchwork of black and blue by tomorrow. As he gently spread lemongrass suds he washed away that strange smell… a particularly cloying and heavy perfume, almost smoky. It coated his mouth and the back of his tongue, masking the scents of Aiden and the unknown man. He worked over Jaskier’s back, leaning close to steal another whiff before washing the perfume away.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Jaskier had noticed. “Far too strong for my tastes, and my nose is nothing compared to yours.”

“It covers him up.” Geralt immediately regretted speaking.

Jaskier turned around and Geralt started washing his chest, avoiding Jaskier’s eyes. “Good. If I knew who he was, I wouldn’t tell you. Not only because I respect his right to privacy, but also because I cannot have you beating my clients bloody if we bump into them at the market.” He tipped Geralt’s chin up, tearing his gaze away from the discoloration on his chest. “I’m fine, Geralt. Hurt but not harmed. And I’m only hurting because you’re scrubbing so hard.” There was a hint of scolding in his voice but he didn’t pull away from Geralt’s hands.

By the time Geralt finished with Jaskier’s hair, the heavy perfume was gone. He let his muscles uncoil as Jaskier returned the favor, humming and gossiping to fill the silence. Once he was done, Geralt reclined against the side of the tub with his eyes closed, trying to muster the energy to haul himself out and use the ointments on Jaskier’s skin. He could hear Jaskier splashing a bit as he worked on cleaning the last evidence of his lovers away, water pattering on the floor when he leaned out of the tub in search of more soap.

Geralt sat bolt-upright and lunged for Jaskier, pinning him to the side of the tub.

“Fuck! What are you _doing_?” Jaskier squawked indignantly.

He tried to wiggle away but Geralt held him firmly, hands a nearly perfect overlay on the reddened skin of his ass. He was almost certain that if he looked, his fingers would fall right atop the marks on the other side of Jaskier’s hips. Geralt realized there were new scents in the air and that must have been what caught his attention. He could just barely detect the essence of Jaskier’s patrons.

Jaskier pushed back, trying to shove Geralt away. “Get off me, you brute.” He elbowed Geralt in the gut. “What is wrong with you?” Despite his protests, the smell of Jaskier’s arousal drifted away from his skin. Geralt ignored him and flexed his wrists, spreading Jaskier a little wider. One of his thumbs was quite close to Jaskier’s rim, though Geralt wasn’t entirely sure how it had gotten there. The tension of his finger against Jaskier’s soft flesh tugged slightly at his entrance and Geralt watched as a pearly droplet snuck out and trickled down Jaskier’s inner thigh. He had the strangest urge to lick Jaskier clean... Perhaps it was some kind of animal instinct instilled by the mutations and now dredged up from the depths of his mind.

He mentally shook himself and tried to focus. Who had been with Jaskier? Who had hurt him like this? He clenched his hands over the bruises and the stranger-smell was swamped by Jaskier’s lust.

“Stop, Geralt, stop.” Jaskier rocked forward to slide over the slick wall of the enameled tub and then pressed back into Geralt’s hands, letting another dribble of spend escape. “You’re playing with fire.” He rolled his hips forward and back again.

Geralt was transfixed.

“ _Fuck_ , please. You’re killing me. You don’t realize what you’re doing.”

Geralt pressed his fingers into Jaskier’s bruises, making him gasp.

“I’m sorry, I know you aren’t doing it on purpose, but it feels— I can’t help it. I’m so sorry.” Jaskier stuttered to a halt and hung his head down between his shoulders.

“It hurts?” Geralt felt like he had to dredge the words up from a deep pit.

Jaskier laughed, bitterly. “It feels _good_ , Geralt. Fuck, it’s so good. You’re holding me down and spreading me open, looking at what they’ve done to me.”

Geralt’s cock throbbed and he liked the idea of checking Jaskier over, as if he were a favorite horse that had been loaned out.

Jaskier craned his neck and stared at Geralt over his shoulder, over the _bite mark_ , and his cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated. “It’s a _sex thing_ , Geralt.” He had tried to put on a serious face but the effect was ruined by the little tremor in his voice.

“You want me to see what they did?” The words ground out of him.

“Don’t say it like that!” He turned away and tried to slip sideways, but Geralt couldn’t seem to let him go. Jaskier hung his head again as he blew out a sigh, and his breath smelled like Aiden.

A growl ripped out of Geralt’s chest.

“What are you thinking right now?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Don’t like what?” Jaskier’s voice was very quiet, as though he didn’t want to startle Geralt.

“I don’t like when you smell like them. Anyone.” He plastered his body against Jaskier’s and hid his face between his shoulder blades.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” He knew.

“Tell me or let me go. I can’t play this game anymore.” There was steel in his voice now. Geralt let go of Jaskier’s hips and wrapped his arms around him.

“I want you to smell like me instead.” He didn’t like the way his cock twitched when he said it, and he _hated_ the way Jaskier went still after it nudged against him.

“Geralt…” Jaskier whispered, as though someone could overhear, “Is this a sex thing?”

He groaned into Jaskier’s skin and Jaskier shuddered head to toe. “Is it a sex thing to be angry someone else had their hands all over you and I haven’t?” He stroked over Jaskier’s chest and belly, trying to erase the knowledge that others had done the same. “I know they were inside of you. I want them to open you up and know that every part of you is _mine_. Mine to protect, mine to touch, mine to keep.” 

Jaskier whimpered. “You can’t talk like that and not know how it sounds.” He was shaking all over and his skin was hot against Geralt’s cheek. “What do you need? You have to tell me. I can’t— Your vows—”

“My vows—” Geralt broke off and something suspiciously like a sob rattled out of him. “My vows are to _you_. To protect you and care for you and love you above all others.” He was blindsided by the glacial presence of Cassiel flowing through his veins. Perhaps it made a kind of twisted sense; Cassiel had turned away from his duties and the One God to follow Elua, whom he loved more than anyone. The coldness slowly ebbed away, leaving him lighter than he had ever felt.

He backed off slowly, letting Jaskier turn toward him. Geralt took his time looking Jaskier over in a new light. From his ocean-blue eyes, down his shapely neck to where thick hair grew across his soft chest and belly, to his cock, thick and wet.

“I would give you all of me, and I would have all of you. If you’d let me.”

“Speak plainly. I fear I’m misunderstanding you.”

“I want to fuck you, Jaskier.” Jaskier made a choked noise and clenched his eyes shut. “Or I want you to fuck me. I defer to your expertise.”

“Oh, my _expertise_ , is it? Well it’s too late to deflower you like a maiden; we’ve skipped quite a few steps already.” He was smiling and laughing and grabbing Geralt’s hair. “Kiss me once for good luck, and then take me to bed.”

Geralt leaned in, faster than Jaskier could draw him forward. Their teeth clashed together and there didn’t seem to be anywhere for their noses to go, but Jaskier didn’t pull away. It was an odd thing to do, just pressing their mouths together. It felt _nice_ but Geralt wasn’t sure it was worth all the poems and songs Jaskier had penned. Then Jaskier gently tugged Geralt’s bottom lip with his teeth and slipped his tongue along the inner edge where Geralt’s lip was wet and slick. He moaned and Jaskier moved his tongue a little deeper, then flickered away.

“Do that more, I like that.”

“Not here. If I wait any longer to have you inside me, I’ll combust.”

Geralt grabbed Jaskier under the rump and hauled him up out of the bath. Jaskier yelped and clung to Geralt’s neck. He skidded out of the tub and into the bedroom, kneeing up onto the bed with Jaskier still in his arms. He lost steam there, bravado only able to take him so far.

“Lay down, love. We’re starting at the end, very advanced techniques.” He winked and pressed Geralt’s shoulders gently to the mattress. “Don’t tell the instructors at Eglantine House, they’d be appalled.”

Geralt didn’t know where to put his hands, where to look. He had been close to Jaskier like this before, but never while nude, never with _intent_. Jaskier was pouring oil into his palm and spreading it between his hands. Geralt watched, trying to predict Jaskier’s next move.

“Would you like me to talk, or not?”

“Talk. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Jaskier smiled sweetly down at him from the edge of the bed. “I’m warming the oil. It’ll feel much nicer for both of us. Can I touch you?”

Geralt nodded, expecting Jaskier to warm _him_ up as well. Instead, Jaskier went straight for his cock, giving him a slow drag from root to tip. Geralt arched off the bed, appallingly close to spilling and ending the lesson prematurely.

“The oil’s nice, isn’t it?” Jaskier said, mildly, and gave him another slow stroke. “Don’t worry, I’m almost as excited as you are.” He gestured towards his own erection. “You have no idea how long… well, perhaps you do. Either way, I want you now, and now I get to have you.” His grin was predatory as he threw a leg over Geralt’s waist and used the remaining oil to rub over his entrance, releasing a little more of that stranger-smell into the room.

Geralt’s mind flashed back to how they got here and he grabbed Jaskier’s thighs firmly.

“Normally I’d want you to prepare me,” he paused and clarified, “to use your fingers to make sure I was stretched and slick, but I’m quite stretched out already.” He had a brief faraway look in his eyes and made a noise that Geralt did not appreciate hearing when it wasn’t caused by him. He gripped Jaskier’s chin and turned his focus back to the present.

“I want to.” He liked the little noise Jaskier made after that.

“Well, alright, but only for a moment and only because you asked so nicely.” Jaskier poured a little oil over Geralt’s fingers. “Rub them together to warm it, and then reach behind me.”

Geralt spread the oil but made a detour to gently toy with Jaskier’s foreskin and to tease his fingers over the shaft. Despite their hurry, he didn’t want to be considered a selfish lover. 

“Is this what you’d prefer? I only want what you want.” Jaskier’s hips were restless in the air over Geralt’s belly and his cheeks were flushed.

“No. I want there to be no part of you I haven’t touched. I want—” he was deeply ashamed but forced himself to meet Jaskier’s eyes as he said, “I want to fill you up until there’s no room for anyone inside you but me.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say, because Jaskier collapsed against him, licking into his mouth and sliding his belly over Geralt’s prick. Jaskier pulled away with a gasp and grabbed Geralt’s wrist.

“Now. I need you now, or I’ll do it myself.”

Unwilling to miss his chance, Geralt wrapped his arm around Jaskier and slid two fingers over his tailbone. He greatly appreciated their closer arrangement now that he could feel every tremor in Jaskier’s body as he circled his entrance. He thought of his own body, the difficulty of entering himself, and tried to be gentle with Jaskier. He pressed one fingertip barely inside, watching Jaskier’s face for any sign of discomfort. Instead, Jaskier grinned and rolled his eyes fondly.

“That’s lovely, my darling, but _not now_.” He pulled Geralt’s hand between them and added more oil. Geralt could smell the other men on his fingers and his free hand pressed bruises into Jaskier’s thigh. “You’re going to take care of that, aren’t you? Make it like they never had me?” Jaskier looked down at him with pleading eyes, as if he needed this as much as Geralt did.

He didn’t know if it was a ploy or not, but he fell prey to it either way. He reared up and took Jaskier’s mouth for his own, licking inside as if to lave away the taste of anyone else. He turned and pressed his face into Jaskier’s neck to feel the pulse beat against his cheek. With two fingers pressed against Jaskier’s entrance, he paused.

“Geralt!” Jaskier sounded exasperated, and Geralt felt foolish. He was usually a quick study but he felt ungainly and skittish, and now he’d probably ruined this for Jaskier. Before he could apologize, Jaskier grabbed his chin the same way Geralt had done to him earlier. “Get out of your head! Be here with me. Hold your hand still.”

In one easy movement, Jaskier pushed back onto Geralt’s fingers. The heat and tightness was intense and Geralt couldn’t imagine how he would survive having it around his cock. He rocked his fingers in and out, trying to get used to the idea of being _inside_ Jaskier.

“Do you feel how slick and open I am? That’s how they left me.” Jaskier shifted forward and back, and Geralt chanced adding another finger. Jaskier moaned, and thrust back harder against Geralt’s hand. “Rode hard and put up wet.” Geralt’s fingers flexed and Jaskier let out a little cry. “They didn’t take good care of me, not like you.” He fluttered his lashes at Geralt and pulled his wrist to one side, tugging himself open so Geralt could smell the others.

Any remaining nervousness or concern for propriety vanished in a heartbeat. He shoved his fingers into Jaskier as deep as he could and twisted them, loving how it made Jaskier writhe against him. His only thought was to scour every trace of Jaskier’s patrons out of his body with ruthless care.

“Please, please don’t make me wait. I _need_ you. I’m so empty without you.” He had a hand behind himself, bracing Geralt’s cock against his entrance. Geralt skimmed past it as he worked his fingers out of Jaskier and for one last breathless instant he held back, on the precipice of the unknown.

Then Jaskier begged, “Make me yours.”

And Geralt was gone. He reacted on instinct, pulling Jaskier down and bucking upwards to sheath himself in one brutal movement. He tried to hold himself still, to try and gather his wits, but Jaskier took over, rolling his hips, forcing Geralt in all the way to the hilt.

“Don’t stop. You said you were going to fill me up.” He braced his hands on Geralt’s chest and squeezed his inner muscles tightly, and Geralt couldn’t help but moan.

He tried to brace his feet on the bed and buck upwards but he couldn’t get the leverage right. The violent need inside him was building. The thick smell of Jaskier’s arousal was still tainted and Geralt felt bloodthirsty and vicious with the need to own and claim and mark this beautiful, perfect man so plainly he could never be mistaken for someone else’s. He grabbed the scruff of Jaskier’s neck and shoved him sideways, bullying them over so he was pinned underneath Geralt. He kept his hand clamped under Jaskier’s skull and fucked forward, pulling Jaskier into the movement.

Jaskier howled, his fingers clawing into Geralt’s back. “Fuck, _yes_ , please. Fuck them out of me. Mark me, give me your scent.” He was rutting as best as he could under Geralt’s weight and clenched tight on every outward slide. “Fill me up so everyone knows I’m yours.” He bit hard on Geralt’s neck and Geralt’s snarl was more animal than man. “C’mon, you don’t want someone else to think he can collar your bitch, do you? Give it to me, breed me. I want to overflow with your—”

Geralt returned the bite to Jaskier’s neck, tugging at the skin with his teeth until a drop of copper crossed his tongue. He felt it sizzle, a trail of fire burning down his throat and through his gut, urging him to give in to untamed desires, to _take_.

He grabbed Jaskier hard behind his shoulders and dragged him down into punishing thrusts. Pleasure erupted through him, spilled out of him, and he shook apart, not recovering until well after Jaskier had gripped him with every muscle and poured heat between them.

Jaskier was still clinging when Geralt finally drew in a breath and began the slow process of reconnecting mind to body. He was helped along by the gentle hands stroking through his hair, the little melody hummed in his ear, the sucking kisses along his shoulder, the endlessly blue eyes looking up at him when he finally gathered the strength to peel himself away from Jaskier’s chest.

“There’s no rush, my love. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“How about the bath? Is it normal to be slimy _and_ sticky?”

Jaskier cackled. “It’s not all wine and roses, sometimes it’s handcuffs and cheese.”

“Remind me to skip lessons that day.”

“Give it a fair chance, love. You never know until you try!”

Geralt shut him up with a kiss, and was very pleased to do so.

***

Much later, they had cleaned up and Geralt had managed to get salve on most of Jaskier’s bumps and bruises. He had been oddly evasive about the bite Geralt had left, but otherwise he had been a surprisingly good patient.

They were curled up together in bed, pressed closely like children sharing secrets under the covers. Geralt was easing towards slumber when he finally registered a sense-memory that had been evading him all night.

He snorted a laugh into Jaskier’s face, rousing him.

“What’s so funny?”

“I know who fucked you.”

“Oh..?” Jaskier seemed uncertain. “What’s funny about it?”

“We’ve finally got something in common— we’ve both been balls deep in this sweet ass.” He gave Jaskier a playful slap. It was surprisingly fun to be vulgar.

“Finally?”

“Well, other than the cat eyes.”

“Cat eyes… no. Geralt, _no_. It can’t be! Was it really?”

“I’m sure of it. He didn’t share a room with me, but I still got a whiff of his seed more than once.”

“How? _Why_?”

“Dozens of young men, cooped up in the mountains.” He shrugged. It was pretty self explanatory, he thought.

“Someday you’ll have to tell me about your early years in the Cassiline Brotherhood. I have a feeling there might not be as many differences between our childhoods as I once believed.”

He smothered Jaskier’s blasphemy with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the journey. I have ideas for two more works in this universe and I hope the muses will humor me long enough to evict them from my brain.


End file.
